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FIRST  SEMI-CENTE?fNIAL  ANNIVERSARY 


OF    THE 


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111 


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HELD  AT  UNION  COLLEGE,  JULY  25,  1848. 


ALBANY : 

PRINTED  BY  WEED,  PARSONS  it  CO. 
1849. 


FIRST  SEMI-CENTENNIAL  ANNIVERSARY 


OF    THE 


JH?^ 


FlIL®Mifll 


iifi; 


M  i|,/lili,,'MW\ 


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HELD  AT  UNION  COLLEGE,  JULY  25,  1848. 


ALBANY : 

PRINTED  RY  WEED,  PARSONS   &  CO. 
1849. 


Gift 
The  U&lirer8ity 

24F0S 


PREFACE. 


In  presenting  to  the  Alumni  of  the  Philomathean  Society  this  account  of 
its  Semi-Centeunial  Anniversary,  the  Committee  of  Publication  would  say 
that  they  have  endeavored  to  prepare  a  concise  narrative  of  what  was 
done,  and  to  give  full  reports  of  what  was  said  on  that  memorable  occa- 
sion, believing  it  is  the  latter  feature  that  w^ill  impart  to  the  work  its 
principal  interest.  In  whatever  has  been  written  by  them,  they  have 
aimed  at  brevity,  especially  in  the  Historical  Sketch,  which,  by  the  in- 
struction of  the  Society,  they  have  prefixed  to  the  work.  A  complete  his- 
tory would  require  more  space  than  they  felt  at  liberty  to  occupy  ;  there- 
fore, while  they  have  endeavored  to  delineate,  witk  some  minuteness,  the 
formation  and  early  history  of  the  Society,  they  have  given  only  a  brief 
outline  of  the  most  important  events  of  subsequent  years.  It  has  been 
their  constant  effort  to  render  the  work  perfect  in  its  preparation,  and 
faultless  in  its  execution ;  if  they  have  failed  in  any  respect,  they  can  only 
plead  the  peculiar  diiBculties  with  which  such  a  labor  is  necessarily  at* 
tended. 

R.  N.  DUNHAM, 
LUTHER  B.  HART, 
ALFRED  ROBINSON, 

Committee  of  Publication. 


FIRST  SEMI-CENTENNIAL  ANNIVERSARY 


OF    THE 


FiiLiiif  iMi  Eisim 


HELD  AT  UNION  COLLEGE,  JULY  25,  1S48. 


ALBANY  : 

I'RINTED  BY  WEED,  PARSONS   &  CO. 
1849. 


PREFACE. 


In  presenting  to  the  Alumni  of  the  Philomathean  Society  this  account  of 
its  Semi-Centennial  Anniversary,  the  Committee  of  Publication  would  say 
that  they  have  endeavored  to  prepare  a  concise  narrative  of  what  was 
done,  and  to  give  fuU  reports  of  what  was  said  on  that  memorable  occa- 
sion, believing  it  is  the  latter  feature  that  will  impart  to  the  work  its 
principal  interest.  In  whatever  has  been  written  by  them,  they  have 
aimed  at  bre"\dty,  especially  in  the  Historical  Sketch,  which,  by  the  in- 
struction of  the  Society,  they  have  prefixed  to  the  work.  A  complete  his- 
tory would  require  more  space  than  they  felt  at  liberty  to  occupy  ;  there- 
fore, while  they  have  endeavored  to  delineate,  with  some  minuteness,  the 
formation  and  early  history  of  the  Society,  they  have  given  only  a  brief 
outline  of  the  most  important  events  of  subsequent  years.  It  has  been 
their  constant  effort  to  render  the  work  perfect  in  its  preparation,  and 
faultless  in  its  execution ;  if  they  have  failed  in  any  respect,  they  can  only 
plead  the  pecidiar  difficulties  with  which  such  a  labor  is  necessarily  at- 
tecQod. 

R.  N.  DUNHAM, 
LUTKER  B.  HART. 
ALFRED  ROBINSON, 

Committee  of  Ptiblication. 


HISTORICAL  SKETCH  OF  THE  SOCIETY. 


<  » • » > 


At  the  present  time,  when  the  power  of  voluntary  asso^ 
ciation  is  brought  to  the  aid  of  nearly  every  enterprise, 
the  formation  of  a  literary  society  attracts  no  notice, 
and  gains  for  the  founders  little  or  no  celebrity.  But  it  was 
not  so  when  the  Philomathean  was  founded.  Those  wha, 
at  that  time,  thus  associated  together,  did  not  follow  the 
example  of  thousands  who  had  preceded  them,  as  would 
be  true  now  of  a  similar  movement,  but  marked  out  for 
themselves  a  course  which  had  as  yet  been  pursued  by 
very  few.  Some  regard  is  then  due  to  them  for  originality 
and  independent  enterprise,  but  more  for  the  noble  charac- 
ter which  they  gave  to  the  institution  at  the  moment  of  its 
birth.  The  Philomathean  did  not  take  its  rise  from  a  mere 
ordinary  debating  club — it  sprung  forth,  at  its  very  source  a 
noble  stream,  at  which  those  who  first  gathered  around  it, 
as  well  as  those  who  succeeded  them,  slaked  their  ardent 
thirst  for  knowledge  and  improvement. 

The  Society,  originally  called  the  Calliopean,  owes  its 
origin  to  the  enterprise  of  some  students  of  the  Schenectady 
Academy.  In  one  of  the  rooms  of  the  Academy  building, 
upon  the  evening  of  the  17th  of  October,  1793,  Benjamin 
Romayne,  John  B.  Romeyn,  Henry  Frey  Yates,  Moses  I. 
Cantine,  Levi  H.  Palmer,  Adrian  C.  Van  Slyck,  Cornelius 


b  HISTORICAL    SKETCH 

D.  Schermerhorn,  Thomas  Romeyn  and  Peter  C.  Veeder, 
met,  and  "  having  considered  the  propriety  and  utility  of 
forming  themselves  into  a  Society  for  promoting  useful  and 
ornamental  knowledge  and  acquirements,  such  as  composi- 
tion, speaking,  reading,  and  such  other  exercises  as  may 
from  time  to  time  be  appointed,  agreed  to  institute  a  society 
to  be  called  the  Calliopean."*  John  B.  Romeyn,  Moses  I. 
Cantine  and  Peter  C.  Veeder,  were  appointed  a  committee 
to  draft  a  constitution  and  code  of  laws. 

At  a  subsequent  meeting,  this  committee  made  a  report, 
which  was  adopted,  and  the  organization  was  completed 
by  the  election  of  proper  officers.  Adrian  C.  Tan  Slyck 
was  chosen  first  President. 

After  these  brief  preliminary  proceedings,  the  exercises 
were  commenced  with  a  spirit  and  zeal,  which  shows  that 
a  desire  for  self-improvement  was  the  motive  that  actuated 
its  founders,  and  that  they  expected  to  obtain  this  in  no 
other  way  than  by  rigid  discipline  and  untiring  industry. 
There  were  no  inactive  members.  At  this,  as  at  every 
other  meeting,  each  had  some  duty  assigned  him.  The 
President  opened  the  meeting  with  an  address.  Two 
members  presented  compositions,  two  delivered  orations, 
and  the  remaining  four  read  and  criticised  some  literary 
work.  Extemporaneous  discussion  formed  no  part  of  the 
exercises  of  the  early  meetings  of  the  Society. 

At  this  first  meeting,  they  also  laid  the  foundation  of  a 
library,  by  instructing  the  treasurer  "  to  purchase  a  set  of 
the  Spectator." 

There  is,  in  the  early  records,  a  copy  of  an  essay  read 
by  Benjamin  Romayne  at  the  first  meeting,  an  extract  from 
which  is  introduced  here,  to  show  more  fully  the  character 
of  the  Society,  and  the  motives  of  its  founders.     The  sub- 

*  Extract  from  the  minutes. 


OF   THE    SOCIETY.  7 

ject  is,  the  advantages  of  education,  and  the  improvement 
to  be  derived  from  a  well-regulated  literary  society. 

"  With  views  as  well  to  improve  in  the  various  branches 
of  literature,  as  for  the  purpose  of  cultivating  that  spirit  of 
love,  harmony,  and  friendship,  which  ought  always  to 
prove  the  objects  of  our  pursuit,  and  which  never  fails  of 
procuring  for  us  the  esteem  of  mankind,  the  gentlemen  who 
compose  this  Society,  have  associated  together.  The  great 
object  of  this  institution  is  to  give  its  members  a  taste  for 
literature,  and  to  initiate  them  into  the  principles  of  compo- 
sition and  oratory.  By  devoting  our  leisure  hours  to  these 
pursuits,  and  to  the  attentive  perusal  of  the  literary  pro- 
ductions which  shall  be  presented  to  us,  we  are  led  to  flat- 
ter ourselves  that  we  shall  not  only  enjoy  satisfaction,  but 
will  be  respected  for  learning,  be  an  honor  to  our  country, 
be  more  watchful  and  able  guardians  of  our  liberties,  have 
our  minds  thereby  more  perfectly  humanized,  our  manners 
more  polished,  and  our  actions  more  agreeable  to  the  dic- 
tates of  virtue  and  wisdom." 

For  several  months  the  exercises  of  each  meeting  were 
similar  t©  the  first.  The  President,  holding  his  office  three 
weeks,  was  required  to  deliver  an  address  at  the  opening 
of  each  meeting,  and  every  member  was  expected  to  per- 
form one  of  the  duties  of  composition,  declamation,  or  criti- 
cism. Failure  in  the  performance  of  any  duty,  subjected 
the  delinquent  to  a  fine,  unless  a  satisfactory  excuse  was 
rendered.    But  such  failures  were  extremely  rare. 

They  were  also  very  watchful  in  regard  to  the  deport- 
ment and  moral  character  of  members.  When  any  one 
was  proposed  for  membership,  before  the  Society  proceeded 
to  ballot  on  his  admission,  two  members  were  required  to 
give  assurance  of  the  candidate's  fitness  in  these  respects. 
The  least  improper  treatment  of  another,  profanity,  card- 


8  HISTORICAL    SKETCH 

playing,  or  intemperance,  subjected  the  person  thus  guilty 
to  reproof,  fine,  suspension,  or  expulsion,  according  to  the 
nature  of  the  offence,  and  the  degree  of  penitence  manifest- 
ed by  the  offender.  Their  meetings  were  conducted  with 
a  degree  of  order  and  decorum,  which  it  would  be  difficult 
to  enforce  at  the  present  day,  in  any  assembly.  Upon  the 
records  of  those  times  are  the  notices  of  reproofs  and  fines 
imposed  for  addressing  the  President  without  rising,  for 
speaking  while  another  had  the  floor,  for  discourteous  lan- 
guage, and  for  other  similar  improprieties. 

These  reproofs  were  kindly  received  and  the  fines 
promptly  paid.  After  meeting  contingent  expenses,  what 
remained  of  the  fines,  and  also  of  the  one  dollar  initiation 
fee,  was  applied  to  the  purchase  of  books,  for  their  little 
library,  which  was  thus  slowly  enlarged.  Each  member, 
also,  gave  to  the  Society  such  books  as  he  could  spare  ;  and 
especially  when  any  one  left  the  society,  he  was  expected 
to  make  a  donation  in  books. 

The  Society,  being  the  first  of  the  kind  instituted  in  the 
city  or  vicinity,  attracted  considerable  attention  among  the 
students  of  the  Academy,  and  other  literary  young  men  of 
the  city,  and  many  were  desirous  to  become  members. 
Several  graduates  of  Princeton  College,  who  were  studying 
divinity  under  Dr.  Romeyn,  pastor  of  the  Reformed  Dutch 
Church,  were  received.  One  of  these,  John  B.  Linn, 
the  author  of  a  volume  of  poems  now  in  the  Society  libra- 
ry, and  the  able  opponent  of  Dr.  Priestly,  was  made  a  Doc- 
tor of  Divinity  at  the  early  age  of  twenty-five.  Many  of 
the  Academy  students  were  unable  to  obtain  a  proposition 
for  membership  ;  and  not  a  few  of  those  proposed  failed  of 
an  election.  To  become  a  member,  required  intellectual 
abilities  and  moral  worth  which  few  possessed.  And 
hence,  although  no  limitation  was  fixed  by  the  constitution, 


OF   THE    SOCIETY.  ^ 

their  number  for  many  years  did  not  much  exceed  that  of 
the  founders.  Balloting  for  candidates,  and  trials  of  delin- 
quents, usually  took  place  at  special  meetings,  the  members 
being  unwilling  to  interrupt  the  stated  exercises  for  these 
purposes. 

No  spectators  were  admitted,  and  an  injunction  of  secre- 
cy was  laid  upon  the  members,  forbidding  them  to  disclose 
any  of  the  Society's  proceedings.  This  law  was  rigidly 
enforced.  In  the  minutes  of  the  Society,  mention  is  made 
of  a  fine  of  Is.  6d.,  and  another  of  4s.  sterling,  imposed  upon 
individuals  for  reading  their  compositions  to  persons  not 
connected  with  the  Society. 

It  is  evident  that  the  early  members  intended  this  orga- 
nization to  be  permanent.  The  utmost  care  was  taken  to 
preserve  their  records,  and  to  transcribe  all  resolutions  and 
orders  in  the  book  of  laws.  As  early  as  December  17,  1793, 
a  committee  was  appointed  to  procure  a  seal  for  the  Society. 
Certificates  of  membership,  forms  of  dismission,  anc'  diplo- 
mas for  attending  and  honorary  members,  were  carefully 
prepared  at  an  early  period. 

The  first  discussions  of  the  Society,  called  Forensic,  were 
in  writing,  and  conducted  by  only  two  members,  styled 
the  Respondent  and  the  Opponent.  Subsequently,  a  third 
was  added,  called  a  Replicator,  who  reviewed  the  argu- 
ments of  the  other  two,  and  decided  upon  their  comparative 
merits.  These  disputants  followed  each  other  at  succes- 
sive meetings,  in  the  order  they  have  been  named.  The 
first  question  discussed  was,  "  Are  private  vices  public  ben- 
efits ?" 

Soon  afterwards  extemporaneous  discussion  was  intro- 
duced. In  this,  all  were  required  to  engage,  in  addition  to 
their  other  duties.  They  were  equally  divided  into  oppo- 
site sides,  by  the  President.     No  member  was  considered  to 


10  HISTORICAL    SKETCH 

have  performed  his  duty  in  the  discussion,  unless  he  had 
spoken  more  thdcn  two  minuteS'  The  first  extemporaneous 
debate  took  place,  March  20th,  1794,  upon  the  following 
question :  "  Is  Great  Britain  justifiable  in  waging  war 
against  France  ?"  The  President  reviewed  the  arguments 
and  gave  his  decision  according  to  their  comparative 
weight.  The  exercise  of  reading  and  criticism  was  now 
discontinued,  but  the  Forensic  discussion  remained  as  a 
regular  exercise  of  each  meeting  for  nearly  twenty  years. 

In  the  summer  of  1794,  some  of  the  society  left  the  Aca- 
demy and  entered  Princeton  College.  Others  looked  for- 
ward to  the  establishment  of  a  College  in  their  own  city — 
a  project  that  now  began  to  arouse  public  attention.  At 
the  meeting  of  November  7, 1794,  the  subject  for  extempora- 
neous discdssion  was,  "  Is  Schenectady  a  proper  place  for  a 
College  ?" 

In  1795,  Union  College  was  organized,  and  commenced 
its  exercises  in  the  upper  part  of  the  Academy  building, 
the  lower  rooms  being  still  occupied  for  a  grammar  school. 
Many  of  the  members  entered  the  new  institution,  taking 
with  them  their  Society,  which  was  ever  afterwards  consi- 
dered as  connected  with  the  College.  About  the  same 
time,  the  name  of  the  Society  was  changed  from  Calliopean 
to  Philoniathean,  but  it  continued  to  meet  in  the  same  room, 
to  be  composed  of  the  same  members,  and  to  conduct  its 
exercises  in  the  same  manner.  There  was  no  interruption 
of  its  meetmgs  or  its  business.  The  first  meeting  under 
the  name  Philomathean,  was  held  October  29,  1795.* 

*  Lest  any  one  should  infer  that  in  the  change  from  an  Academy  to  a 
College  Society,  and  in  the  change  of  name,  the  identity  of  the  Calliopean 
with  the  Philomathean  was  destroyed,  the  following  extract  of  a  letter 
from  Dr.  Sweetman,  who  was  an  active  member  at  that  time,  is  here  in- 
serted: "The  Philomathean  is  one  and  the  same  with  the  Calliopean. 
The  name  Philomathean  was  substituted  for  tliat  of  Calliopean,  by  a  sim- 
ple vote  of  the  Society,  to  gratify  the  wishes  of  some  of  its  members.     No 


OP    THE    SOCIETY.  11 

The  following  were  the  attending  members  of  the  Socie- 
ty at  that  time  :  John  B.  Romeyn,  Levi  H.  Palmer,  Corne- 
lius D.  Schermerhorn,  Andrew  McCollum,  John  L.  Zabris- 
kie,  Reuben  Sears,  Cornelius  WyckofF,  Joseph  Sweetman, 
Peter  Myers,  and  Jacob  Ten  Eyck.  The  non-attend- 
ing members  were  Henry  Wyckoff,  Isaac  Van  Doren,  Mo- 
ses I.  Cantine,  Adrian  Van  Slyck,  Theodore  F.  Talbot, 
John  B.  Linn,  and  Alexander  McLeod. 

Of  these,  Messrs.  Sweetman,  Zabriskie,  Schermerhorn) 
Sears,  McLeod,  and  Palmer,  entered  the  new  College,  the 
first  three  composing  the  first  class  that  graduated  from  the 
institution  in  1797.  In  this  year,  John  B.  Linn  and  John 
B.  Romeyn  received  the  degree  of  D.  D.,  being  the  first 
honorary  degrees  conferred  by  Union  College.  The  latter 
was  the  first  President  of  the  Society  after  its  name  was 
changed  to  Philomathean. 

By  a  resolution  passed  December  20, 1795,  "the  members 
were  allowed,  at  such  times  as  they  should  think  proper,  to 
wear  upon  their  left  arm  a  badge  of  a  light  blue  color." 
Another  resolution  was  subsequently  passed,  requiring  all 
to  wear  this  badge,  on  every  public  occasion.  There  was 
at  this  time  a  law  of  the  College  forbidding  any  student  to 
appear  at  chapel  without  the  College  badge — a  piece  of 
blue  ribbon  tied  in  the  button-hole  of  the  coat. 

Up  to  this  time,  as  has  been  mentioned  above,  the  meet- 
ings of  the  Society  were  attended  by  none  but  its  members, 
who  were,  by  its  laws,  forbidden  to  disclose  any  of  its  pro- 
ceedings. Its  members  were  indeed  well  known,  and  the 
Society  itself  attracted  great  attention,  and  commanded 
much  respect ;  but  no  public  exhibition  of  the  Society,  as 
such,  had  ever  taken  place.     By  a  resolution  passed  January 

alteration  was  made  in  its  constitution,  laws,  or  mode  of  conducting  busi- 
ness. It  had  no  reference  to  the  establishment  of  the  College  :  that  was 
not  mentioned  at  the  time,  and  probably  not  thought  of." 


12-  HISTORICAL    SKETCH 

6, 1796,  and  afterwards  engrafted  into  the  Constitution,  it  was 
resolved  that  the  society  should  annually  celebrate  its  own 
anniversary,  and  that  of  American  Independence. 

The  Society  anniversary  was,  for  a  long  time,  an  occasion 
of  great  interest.  It  was  celebrated  at  the  close  of  the  fall 
term ;  sometimes  in  one  of  the  churches  of  the  city,  but 
usually  in  the  hall  of  the  College.  The  exercises  consisted 
of  orations,  plays,  poems,  and  music.  At  first  these  cele- 
brations were  open  to  all  who  chose  to  attend  ;  but,  subse- 
quently, the  audiences  were  select,  invited  by  a  committee 
appointed  for  that  purpose. 

The  strict  attention  of  the  society  to  the  deportment  of 
its  members  has  been  noticed.     Originally,  it  was  the  duty 
of  the  Secretary,  and  the  privilege  of  every  member,  to  re- 
port a  delinquent.     In  July,  1796,  this  duty  was  assigned 
to  three  members,  elected  for  the  purpose,  and  called  "  the 
Committee  of  Morals."     The  minutes  of  the  Society  show 
that  the  duties  of  this  committee  were  not  merely  nominal ; 
frequent  censures  and  fines  prove  that  these  duties  were 
faithfully  performed.     Care  was  taken  in  the  election  of 
new  members  ;  but  if  any  one  was  elected  who  was  not 
governed  by  strict  principles  of  morality  and  integrity,  he 
found  his  position  of  membership  an  uneasy  one.     No  fail- 
ure in  attendance   nor  in  the   performance  of  duty,  nor 
the  least  departure  from  the  strictest  decorum,  was  tolera- 
ted.    In  the  minutes  of  November  25, 1796,  is  the  record  of 
a  fine  of  four  fence  each,  imposed  upon  two  members  for 
whispering  during  the  exercises  ! 

November  21, 1797,  it  was  resolved  that  the  office  of  Com- 
mittee of  Morals  should  be  abolished,  and  that  instead,  a 
Censor  should  be  elected,  who  should  choose  three  Council- 
lors to  act  with  him.  Besides  performing  the  duties  of  the 
Committee  of  Morals,  the  Censor  and  Council  were  requir- 


OF    THE    SOCIETY.  13 

ed  to  examine,  and  if  necessary,  revise  every  composition 
before  it  was  presented  to  the  Society.  Hon.  Chief  Justice 
Savage  was  the  first  Censor. 

In  1800,  the  hbrary  of  the  Society  numbered  one  hun- 
dred and  two  volumes.  In  this  year  an  article  was  incor- 
porated into  the  constitution,  requiring  that  a  member  of 
the  Senior  Class  should  be  appointed  to  deliver  a  valedic- 
tory at  the  time  of  College  commencement.  This  was  pro- 
nounced in  the  College  chapel,  the  Faculty,  and  members 
of  other  literary  societies  being  invited  to  attend.  This  ap- 
pointment was  subsequently  considered  the  highest  honor 
in  the  Society. 

In  October,  1804,  the  time  of  meeting  was  changed  from 
Thursday  evening  to  Saturday  afternoon.  This  was  in 
accordance  with  an  order  from  the  Faculty,  forbidding  any 
literary  society  to  meet  during  study  hours,  unless  the  offi- 
cers of  College  were  acquainted  with  all  its  proceedings, 
and  allowed  to  control  its  internal  regulations.  This  order, 
considered  by  many  as  unjust  and  oppressive,  was  obeyed 
with  a  spirit  which  does  honor  to  the  members  at  that  peri- 
od. The  following  resolutions,  unanimously  passed  on 
that  occasion,  are  deemed  worthy  of  insertion. 

"  Whereas  a  certain  degree  of  independence,  particularly 
in  our  internal  arrangements,  is  absolutely  necessary  to  the 
well-being  of  the  Philomathean  Society  ;  and 

Whereas,  the  Faculty  of  College  have  determined  that  we 
shall  not  meet  during  the  hours  of  study,  except  on  condi- 
tions which  we  cannot  approve  ;  therefore, 

Resolved^  That  we  will  cheerfully  sacrifice  part  of  the 
time  we  are  allowed  for  recreation,  and  meet  on  Saturday 
afternoon. 

Resolvedy  That  nothing  is  intended  in  these  resolutions, 
in  any  way  derogating  from  that  respect  for  the  officers,  and 


14  HISTORICAL    SKETCH 

obedience  to  the  laws  of  College,  which  we  shall  always 
be  proud  to  evince.  Our  only  wish  is  to  conduct  our  Soci- 
ety in  the  manner  we  have  done  for  years,  and  which  ex- 
perience has  demonstrated  to  be  beneficial  to  our  literary 
pursuits." 

Soon  after  this,  the  Society  changed  its  place  of  meeting 
to  the  building  now  the  West  College,  then  recently  erect- 
ed. The  library  was  still  kept  in  the  Academy  for  several 
years.  According  to  the  report  of  a  committee  appointed  to 
examine  it,  in  July,  1806,  the  number  of  books  was  294. 
The  number  of  members  at  the  same  time  was  twenty- 
four. 

The  extemporaneous  discussion  at  this  time  was  most- 
ly confined  to  the  Seniors  and  Juniors.  The  Sophomores 
were  allowed  to  join  in  it  during  the  third  term  of  the  col- 
legiate year,  and  at  such  other  times  as  they  could  obtain 
permission  from  the  Censor  and  Council.  This  restriction 
was  removed  in  1811,  and  henceforth  to  speak  on  debate 
was  not  only  a  privilege,  but  a  duty  of  every  member. 

In  May,  1811,  a  literary  paper,  called  the  Floriad,  was 
commenced  by  the  Philomathean  in  connection  with  the 
Adelphic.  It  was  conducted  by  a  committee  of  four  from 
each  Society.  Its  publication  continued  but  a  short  time. 
During  this  year,  a  room  for  the  library  was  obtained  and 
fitted  up  in  the  new  College.  The  first  catalogue  of  the 
library  was  also  published  at  the  same  time.  The  anni- 
versary exercises  this  year  were  "one  Latin  and  four  Eng- 
lish Orations,  a  Poem,  a  Colloquy  and  two  Disputations." 
As  usual  these  were  all  presented  to  the  Society  and  criti- 
cised, before  they  were  delivered  in  public. 

In  September  of  this  year,  after  repeated  applications,  the 
Society  obtained  permission  from  the  Faculty  to  meet  at  nine 
o'clock  on  Saturday  morning.    For  several  years  from  this 


OP   THE    SOCIETV.  15 

time,  they  continued  in  session  during  the  day.  The  fore- 
noon was  devoted  to  declamation  and  composition.  The 
members  were  divided  into  two  divisions,  one  of  which  read, 
and  the  other  declaimed  at  each  meeting.  The  Society 
numbering  nearly  fifty  members,  fifteen  to  twenty  declama- 
tions and  as  many  compositions  were  presented  at  each  meet- 
ing. These  occupied  the  entire  forenoon.  At  half  past  one, 
they  again  met,  and  the  extemporaneous  discussion  took 
place,upon  which  all  were  required  to  speak.  This  not  unfre- 
quently  consumed  the  whole  afternoon,  so  that  a  third 
meeting  was  held  in  the  evening  for  the  transaction  of  mis- 
cellaneous business.  There  were  comparatively  few  ab- 
sent from  these  meetings.  Those  who  were  unwilling  to 
devote  so  much  time  to  them,  asked  and  received  an  hon- 
orable dismissal ;  or  through  frequent  absences  and  neglect 
of  duty,  with  the  refusal  to  pay  the  fines  thereby  incurred, 
were  relieved  from  duties  too  onerous  for  them,  by  expul- 
sion. 

By  a  vote  passed  March  14,  1812,  the  public  celebration 
of  the  Anniversary  of  American  Independence  was  discon- 
tinued. The  succeeding  one  was  celebrated  by  the  Soci- 
ety with  the  usual  exercises  in  their  own  Hall,  with  no  au- 
dience but  their  own  members,  and  in  following  years  it 
was  wholly  omitted.  The  public  celebration  was  not  dis- 
continued on  account  of  any  apathy  or  indifference  on  the 
part  of  the  members,  but  external  circumstances  rendered 
it  expedient. 

Upon  the  erection  of  North  and  South  Colleges,  the  So- 
ciety obtained  the  Hall  they  now  occupy.  October  12, 1816, 
Messrs.  J.  B.  Nott,  Lansing,  Frothingham,  Colt  and  Tib- 
bits,  were  appointed  to  solicit  funds  by  subscription,  and 
apply  them  to  the  fitting  up  of  the  New  Hall.  At  the 
meeting  of  November  2,  Messrs.  Doane,  Manning,  King,  Per- 


16  HISTORICAL    SKETCH 

ter  and  Jarvis,  were  appointed  a  committee  to  remove  the 
library  to  the  room  it  now  occupies.  These  committees  per- 
formed the  duties  assigned  them,  and  in  the  spring  of  ]  818 
the  Society  met  in  the  New  Hall.  Resolutions  were  passed 
May  30,  1818,  that  no  person  but  a  member  of  the  Society 
should  be  admitted  into  it,  and  that  upon  the  days  of  meet- 
ing the  President  should  keep  the  door  closed  until  the 
members  had  assembled  in  the  adjoining  room,  and  a  quo- 
rum were  present. 

At  that  time,  and  for  many  years  afterwards,  upon  the 
death  of  any  attending  member,  or  of  one  recently  gradua- 
ted, the  badge  of  mourning  was  worn  for  thirty  days,  and 
a  member  was  appointed  to  pronounce  a  funeral  oration. 
These  orations  were  usually  delivered  in  the  chapel  of  the 
College,  and  the  members  of  the  Faculty  and  of  the  other 
literary  societies  were  invited  to  attend. 

Between  1816  and  1820.  large  additions  were  made  to 
the  library ;  considerable  appropriations  were  made  each 
term  for  the  purchase  of  books.  November  21,  1818,  $300 
were  voted  for  this  purpose. 

As  has  been  before  hinted,  dismissals  and  expulsions 
were  not  unfrequent.  In  1817,  an  order  was  passed  that 
the  names  of  all  members  expelled  should  be  published  in 
one  of  the  city  papers.  The  minutes  for  several  subsequent 
years  show  that  this  order  was  faithfully  executed. 

Until  1830,  the  afternoon  sessions  were  continued  with 
only  an  occasional  interruption.  From  this  period  they 
were  held  less  frequently,  until  they  ceased  altogether,  ex- 
cept when  there  was  an  unusual  amount  of  miscellaneous 
business  to  be  transacted.  From  that  time  to  the  present 
there  is  little  to  narrate.  "  Happy  is  the  people  whose  his- 
tory is  uninteresting."  The  Society  has  continued  prospe- 
rous, it^  meetings  have  been  regularly  held,  well  attended, 


OF    THE    SOCIETY.  17 

and  full  of  interest,  and  its  library  steadily  enlarged.  The 
number  of  attending  members  at  the  period  of  the  semi- 
centennial anniversary  was  115 ;  the  number  of  volumes  in 
the  library  about  3000. 

Nearly  1400  members  have  enjoyed  the  advantages  af- 
forded by  the  Philomathean,  a  large  proportion  of  whom 
are  now  proving  their  value  by  the  stations  of  honor  and 
influence  which  they  occupy.  During  the  last  fifty-five 
years  of  her  existence,  the  most  sanguine  anticipations  of 
the  founders  and  early  members  have  been  more  than  rea- 
lized. 

The  noble  origin  of  the  Society,  its  continued  prosperity 
and  increasing  usefulness,  must  make  every  Alumnus  hon- 
or the  Institution  of  his  choice,  and  feel  proud  to  be  enrolled 
among  her  favored  sons.  He  can  look  to  the  future  with 
the  confident  and  well  grounded  hope  that  when  Philoma- 
theans,  of  a  future  generation,  shall  come  together  to  cele- 
brate her  centennial  anniversary,  they  will  then  rejoice  in 
her  onward  career  of  usefulness  for  the  next  half  century, 
as  we  now  do  in  that  of  the  one  just  completed. 


PRELIMINARY  PROCEEDINGS. 


At  a  meeting  of  the  Philomathean  Society,  held  January 
29,  1848,  WiUiam  J.  Magill  introduced  the  subject  of  a 
semi-centennial  celebration  of  the  formation  of  the  Society. 
He  remarked  that  the  present  was  the  fifty-fifth  year  since 
it  was  founded,  and  that  it  was  proper  that  its  semi-centen- 
nial anniversary  should  no  longer  be  deferred.  His  propo- 
sition met  with  a  hearty  response  from  the  Society,  and  the 
following  resolution  was  unanimously  passed  : 

Resolved^  That  a  committee  of  three  be  appointed  to  fix 
upon  a  day  for  the  semi-centennial  celebration  of  the  found- 
ing of  this  Society,  and  also  to  procure  an  Orator  and  Poet 
for  the  occasion. 

George  M.  McEachron,  William  Mills,  and  M.  T.  Pratt, 
were  appointed  as  this  committee. 

At  a  subsequent  meeting  this  committee  reported  that, 
although  the  date  of  the  Society's  organization  was  October 
17,  yet  they  had  fixed  upon  July  25,  for  its  semi-centennial 
anniversary,  as  that  was  the  day  preceding  commencement^ 
and  therefore  best  adapted  to  secure  a  large  attendance  of 
the  Alumni.  They  farther  reported,  that  they  had  procur- 
ed Rev.  Henry  P.  Tappen,  D.  D.,  of  New- York,  as  Ora- 
tor, and  Alfred  B.  Street,  A.  M.,  of  Albany,  as  Poet. 

On  motion,  the  report  of  the  committee  was  adopted. 

At  a  meeting  held  May  20,  the  following  resolutions 
were  passed : 


20  PHILOMATHEAN    CELEBRATION. 

Resolved^  That  a  committee  of  five  be  appointed  as  a 
Semi-centemiial  Committee  of  Arrangements. 

Resolved^  That  this  committee  have  discretionary  pow- 
er to  make  all  necessary  arrangements  for  the  semi-centen- 
nial anniversary. 

Resolved^  That  this  committee  be  instructed  to  appoint 
from  the  graduated  members  a  committee  of  inritation, 
who  should  address  to  the  Alumni  circulars  soliciting  their 
attendance. 

The  following  gentlemen  were  chosen  committee  of  ar- 
rangements :  Roswell  G.  Pettibone.  Amasa  McCoy,  Adrian 
H.  Dunning,  I.  Fayette  Pettibone,  and  Andrew  H.  Green. 

The  following  graduated  members  were  appointed  a 
committee  of  invitation : 

Prof  ISAAC  W.  JACKSON,  A.  M.,  Chairman. 
Rev.  Joseph  Sweetman,  D.  D., 
Hon.  John  Savage,  LL.  D., 
T.  RoMEYN  Beck,  M.  D.,  LL.  D., 
Rev.  Cornelius  C.  Cuyler,  D.  D., 
Hon.  Marcus  T.  Reynolds, 
Hon.  John  C.  Spencer,  LL.  D., 
Rt.  Rev.  George  W.  Doan-e,  D.  D.,  LL.  D., 
Hon.  Samuel  W.  Jones, 
Hon.  Archibald  L.  Linn, 
Hon.  John   C.  Wright. 

By  the  above  committeet  he  following  Circular  was  ad- 
dressed to  the  Alumni  of  the  Society. 

CIRCULAR 

to  the  alumni  of  the  philomathean  society. 

Dear  Sir  : 

It  is  now  nearly  fifty-five  years  since  the  foundation  of 
our  Literary  Society,  and  yet  her  Semi-Centennial  Anniver- 
sary has  never  been  commemorated.     Preparatory  arrange- 


PRELIMINARY  PROCEEDINGS.  21 

merits  were  made  in  part  to  hold  this  celebration  during  the 
past  academic  year,  but  for  different  reasons  it  was  deemed 
advisable  to  defer  it.  The  active  members  of  the  Society- 
are  now  determined,  however,  to  delay  it  no  longer ;  and 
therefore  propose  to  celebrate  this  era  in  a  proper  manner, 
on  the  25th  of  July  ensuing,  being  the  day  preceding  com- 
mencement. 

On  that  day,  therefore,  an  Oration  and  Poem  will  be 
pronounced,  accompanied  by  other  appropriate  exercises, 
after  which  the  Alumni  and  Active  members  will  move  in 
procession  to  the  festive  board,  to  partake  of  a  dinner  to  be 
provided  for  the  occasion. 

The  undersigned  are  chosen  a  Committee  of  Invitation 
to  address  the  Alumni.  According  to  this  appointment,  we 
now  earnestly  solicit  you,  as  an  Alumnus  of  the  Philoma- 
thean,  to  lay  aside  for  a  day  the  cares  and  duties  of  ordina- 
ry life ;  to  come  up  and  pay  a  tribute  of  respect  to  the  So- 
ciety that  nurtured  us  in  our  youth  ;  to  visit  again  her  Hall, 
rendered  sacred  by  precious  associations ;  and  contribute  to 
commemorate  in  a  worthy  manner-  this  interesting  era  in 
her  history. 

ISAAC  W.  JACKSON,  Chairman. 
JOSEPH  SWEETMAN,        JOHN  C.  SPENCER, 
JOHN  SAYAGE,  GEORGE  W.  DOANE, 

T.  ROMEYN  BECK,  SAMUEL  W.  JONES, 

CORNELIUS  C.  CUYLER,   ARCHIBALD  L.  LINN, 
MARCUS  T.  REYNOLDS,    JOHN  C.  WRIGHT. 

Committee  of  Invitation, 


RECEPTION. 


For  the  reception  of  the  Alumni,  the  Hall  of  the  Society 
had  been  tastefully  decorated  with  wreaths  of  evergreens, 
by  the  acting  members,  generously  assisted  by  the  Ladies 
of  Schenectady.  Upon  an  arch  of  evergreens  that  spanned 
the  entrance  was  inscribed — Gaudeo  te  venisse  salvum. 

A  large  flag  hung  from  the  library  window,  bearing  in 
conspicuous  characters  the  inscription,  PHILOMATHEAN. 

At  10  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  the  25th  of  July,  the 
day  being  most  propitious  for  the  exercises  of  the  occasion, 
the  Alumni  entered  the  Hall,  filling  it  to  overflowing,  their 
hearts  beating  responsive  to  the  appropriate  air  of  "  Home^ 
Sweet  Hcme^^  and  were  welcomed  by  the  President  of  the 
Society,  R.  N.  Dunham,  who,  in  behalf  of  the  attending 
members,  addressed  them  as  follows: 

Cherished  and  Respected  Brothers  : 

In  the  discharge  of  the  pleasing  duty  imposed  upon  me 
by  the  attending  members  of  the  Philomathean,  I  most  cor- 
dially welcome  you  back  to  this  Hall— the  home  of  our 
common  Society.  Many  of  you  have  long  been  known  to 
us  as  the  prominent  actors  in  the  political,  literary  and  reli- 
gious world.  We  have  respected  you,  but  to-day  we  meet 
you  with  the  warmer  feelings  of  friendship  and  affection — 
as  brothers — and  although  your  faces  appear  to  us  as  the 
features  of  strangers,  still  we  remember  that  you  once  met 


24  PHILOMATHEAN  CELEBRATION. 

in  this  Hall,  made  these  walls  echo  the  sound  of  your 
voices,  left  your  names  on  our  records,  and  your  memo- 
ries to  be  cherished  by  every  successive  generation  of 
members  until  the  present  time :  in  short,  that  here  is  a 
common  interest  alike  dear  to  us  and  you.  These  recol- 
lections awaken  in  us  the  feelings  of  family  affection,  and 
make  us  eager  to  grasp  you  by  the  hand,  with  all  the  ardor 
of  long  and  intimate  friendship.  This  is  the  happy  privi- 
lege afforded  us  by  our  mutual  relation  to  our  common  Soci- 
ety, whose  noble  motto  is,  virtus^  scientia.  et  amicitia. 
Virtue  elevates  and  purifies  the  soul,  and  gives  it  moral 
worth ;  knowledge  expands  and  cultivates  the  mind,  and 
gives  it  intellectual  worth  ;  friendship  enlarges  and  softens 
the  heart,  and  gives  it  social  worth,  and  when  entwined 
with  virtue  and  knowledge,  is  the  strong  cord  that  binds 
man  to  most  of  his  earthly  happiness  ;  it  is  the  brightest 
gem  in  the  triple-jeweled  crown  of  our  society — the  tender 
tie  which,  passing  over  time  and  space,  and  encircling  even 
the  grave,  binds  together  to-day  the  hearts  and  memories 
of  all  who  have  ever  been  connected  with  the  Philoma- 
thean.  Thus  closely  linked  together,  our  feelings,  and  we 
trust,  yours,  are,  that  this  is  not  a  company  of  strangers 
congregated  here  to-day — ^but  a  family  gathering — a  re-un- 
ion of  separated  kindred. 

It  is  indeed  a  source  of  pleasure  to  us  to  welcome  here 
to-day  so  many,  who  have  long  mingled  in  the  active 
scenes  of  the  bustling  world,  and  who  have  won  there, 
honor  and  respect,  but  who  still  cherish  a  warm  affection 
for  the  Society  which  nurtured  them  in  their  youth,  and 
now  in  the  meridian  and  evening  of  life,  have  returned  to 
venerate  its  memory  and  do  it  honor.  While  there  is  that, 
in  the  recollections  of  the  past,  to  sadden  you  and  us  too, 
for  we  can  but  join  with  you  in  dropping  a  tear  to  the 


RECEPTION.  25 

memory  of  those  who  once  met  here  with  you — your 
friends  and  associates — our  common  brothers,  whom  the 
gloomy  portals  of  the  grave  prevent  from  meeting  with  us 
to-day ;  still  we  trust  this  occasion  will  be  to  you  a  joyous 
one,  in  witnessing  the  success  of  your  labors,  and  in  meet- 
ing here  so  many,  who  will  hold  you  and  them  in  fond 
remembrance. 

With  the  past  history  and  character  of  the  Philomathean, 
you  are  all  well  acquainted.  We  present  to  you  our  con- 
venient rooms,  and  our  large  number  of  active  and  zealous 
members,  as  evidences  of  its  present  prosperity.  Thus 
looking  upon  the  past  with  pride,  the  present  with  satisfac- 
tion, and  the  future  with  hope,  there  is  every  thing  to  make 
this  a  joyous,  long-remembered,  family  gathering ;  and 
hoping  that  it  may  prove  so  to  each  of  you,  I  once  again 
bid  you  a  hearty  welcome. 

On  behalf  of  the  Alumni,  Joel  B.  Nott,  Esq.,  replied  as 
follows : 

Mr.  President : — Not  until  the  moment  I  arrived,  had  I 
any  intimation  that  I  was  to  take  a  part  in  these  exercises, 
but  I  expected  to  remain  a  silent  listener.  In  reply,  sir,  to 
the  warm  welcome  which  has  just  been  extended  to  us  who 
come  back  from  the  midst  of  our  pursuits  in  the  world,  to 
revisit  this,  the  theatre  of  our  former  actions  during  our 
College  life,  a  feeling  mingled  alike  with  joy  and  sorrow 
comes  over  our  hearts.  It  is  not  without  emotion  that  I 
undertake  to  address  you.  This  was  once  the  theatre  in 
which  moved  men,  who  afterwards  became  distinguished 
in  the  world ;  men,  who  were  my  early  companions  in  Col- 
lege, over  whom  the  sod  now  presses,  and  whose  memory 
comes  back  with  a  freshness  which  I  can  hardly  express.  I 
look  around  me,  and  I  see  not,  as  I  once  beheld,  Otis,  and 


26  PHILOMATHEAN   CELEBRATlOl^. 

those  other  men  of  genius,  who,  in  my  time,  used  to  make 
these  walls  echo  with  their  eloquence.  I  look  around  me 
in  vain  to  see  those  men  of  enterprise — boys  they  were  to 
be  sure,  then,  but  their  enterprise  first  started  this  library. 
I  was  myself  among  the  number  of  those  who  first  solicited 
from  the  Faculty,  the  possession  of  these  rooms  for  that 
purpose.  I  was  among  that  number  who  first  contributed 
of  our  early  resources  largely  and  liberally  to  beautify  and 
ornament  these  rooms.  I  can  bear  testimony  to  the  moral 
effect  which  this  Society  has  had  upon  that  generation.  I 
have  before  me  the  evidence  of  its  continued  moral  influ- 
ence from  that  day  to  this.  The  occasion  on  which  we 
assemble  is  one  of  remarkable  interest,  for  there  are  pres- 
ent those  who  belong  to  two  distinct  periods  in  the  history 
of  our  Alma  Mater.  Some  have  associated  this  Society 
with  yonder  West  College.  Such  are  those  who  belong  to 
the  last  generation.  There  are  present  the  honored  relics 
of  that  generation,  who  have  come  up  to-day,  to  give  en- 
couragement to  these  young  men,  who  have  so  kindly  and 
so  wisely  invited  us  back  to  the  scenes  of  our  youth,  where 
we  once  took  pleasure  in  the  pursuits  of  science,  friendship 
and  virtue. 

It  is  our  earnest  trust  that  this  Society  may  preserve  its 
prosperity  and  its  moral  influence,  and  that  it  will  always 
be  associated  honorably  with  the  history  of  this  institution : 
— that  the  young  members,  the  undergraduates  of  the  So- 
ciety, may  ever  remember  that  we  are  the  elders  who 
added  much  to  the  motto  which  has  been  inscribed  upon 
this  banner,  "  Virtus,  iScieniia,  et  Amicitia.^^  We  come 
back  to  tell  you  that  virtue  is  worth  something  in  the 
affairs  of  this  world  : — we  come  to  tell  you,  who  go  through 
this  institution  to  the  world  in  which  your  virtue  will  be 
tried,  that  it  becomes  every  one  to  gird  up  his  loins  to  meet 


RECEPTION.  27 

the  moral  conflict  which  awaits  him.  We  come  to  tell 
you  that  the  science  which  we  have  carried  with  us,  has 
been  with  us  in  the  business  of  life,  and  that  the  base  self- 
ishness of  the  world  has  not  chilled  the  fountain  of  that 
friendship  which  flows  in  the  bosom  of  every  Philoma- 
thean,  whether  old  or  young. 

At  11  o'clock  the  procession  was  formed  in  front  of  South 
College,  by  Prof  Jackson,  Chief  Marshal  of  the  day,  aid- 
ed by  Wm.  N.  Brown,  Assistant  Marshal.  Escorted  by 
a  Band  of  Music,  it  proceeded  to  the  Reformed  Dutch 
Church  in  the  following  order : 

ORDER    OF    PROCESSION. 

1.  Acting  Members  of  the  Society. 

2.  President  of  the  Day  and  Chaplain. 

3.  Orator  and  Poet. 

4.  Trustees  of  College  and  Regents  of  the  University. 

5.  Faculty  of  Union  College. 

6.  Honorary  Members  and  invited  Guests. 

7.  Presidents  of  the  Philomathean  and  other  College  Lite- 

rary Societies. 

8.  Alumni  of  the  Philomathean,  in  the  order  of  their 

classes,  commencing  with  the  oldest. 

9.  Members  of  the  Adelphic  Society. 

10.  Members  of  the  Delphian  Institute. 

11.  All  others  whose  places  are  not  already  designated. 

On  their  way  to  the  Church,  the  procession  passed  the 
building  on  the  comer  of  Union  and  Ferry  streets,  fonnerly 
occupied  as  an  Academy,  and  the  birth  place  of  the  Philo- 
mathean Society,  to  which  their  attention  was  directed  by 
a  banner  arching  over  the  side-walk,  and  bearing  the  fol- 
lowing inscription : 


28  PHILOMATHEAN   CELEBRATION. 

"PHILOMATHEAN  SOCIETY  FOUNDED  HERB,  OCT.  17,  1793." 

"nUMINA    ANTICIUA    LOCI    VENERAMUR." 

With  feelings  responding  to  this  motto,  the  procession 
passed  beneath  the  banner  with  uncovered  heads. 


EXERCISES  AT  THE  CHURCH. 


At  the  Church,  which  was  densely  filled,  the  exercises 
commenced  with  music  by  the  Band.  This  was  followed 
by  prayer  by  Rev.  Joseph  Sweetman,  D.  D.,  President  of 
the  day.  An  ode  was  then  sung  by  the  Choir,  after  which 
the  assembly  listened  to  the  following  Poem  pronounced 
by  Alfred  B.  Street,  A.  M. 


POEM. 


Knowledge  and  Liberty  !  two  starry  browed 

And  snowy  pinioned  seraphs  unto  Man, 

Lifting  his  spirit  to  his  native  skies, 

Whilst  leading  him  along  his  brightening  path, 

Up  to  that  summit  in  the  azure  heavens. 

Where  nought  shall  be  between  his  soul  and  God, 

But  angel  thoughts,  quick  flashing  to  an  fro, 

Forming  that  golden  age  so  long  foretold 

By  the  old  Prophets,  and  which  rang  so  oft 

From  rapt  Isaiah's  harp-strings,  when  the  sky 

Shall  with  unutterable  splendor  blaze, 

As  Cometh  down  the  New  Jerusalem, 

And  the  changed  earth  shall,  at  its  touch,  burst  out 

Lito  a  second  lovelier  Paradise. 

Knowledge  and  Liberty  !  though  such  their  end, 

And  though  they  should  forever,  hand  in  hand 

Have  gone  with  man  between  them,  borrowing  aid 

Bach  from  the  other,  giving  smile  for  smile. 

And  intermingling  beings  ;  yet,  alas  ! 

How  oft  have  demon  passions  scared  from  man 

Their  mutual  presence,  leaving  him  to  grope 

In  darkness,  now  with  Liberty — and  now 

To  crouch  in  chains  beneath  the  sway  of  Knowledge. 

Ambition  hath  infused  her  poison  foul 
Within  the  bosom  of  the  last,  and  then 
Hath  placed  the  sword  within  her  frowning  clutch, 

5 


30  PHILOMATHEAN   CELEBRATIQW. 

And  she  hath  stricken  frighted  Liberty 
Beneath  her  feet,  and  watched  with  jealous  eyes. 
Thro'  long,  long  centuries  the  writhing  shape. 
And  heard  unmoved  its  wailings  of  despair. 
Till  sometimes,  tho'  not  oft,  would  Liberty,         ' 
Catching  a  stray  glance  from  the  pointed  spear 
Held  at  her  throat  by  Knowledge,  with  w^ild  strength 
Arise,  and  dash  the  foot  from  off  her  neck, 
Grasp  the  sharp  weapon  from  her  wondering  foe. 
Bathe  her  rich  jeweled  robes  in  sudden  blood, 
And  cast  her,  trembling,  headlong  in  the  midst 
Of  the  red  ocean ;  but  her  guile  would  still 
Lead  her  to  shore,  and  her  Briareus  hands 
Would  shower  their  skillful  blows,  till  Liberty, 
Bleeding  at  every  pore,  with  hollow  groan 
Would  fall  again,  and  on  her  panting  breast 
Again  the  crushing  foot  would  plant  itself, 
Again  the  sword  be  pointed  at  her  throat 
With  care  redoubled,  and  more  jealous  watch. 

Trace  we  the  paths  of  both,  from  earliest  times 

Up  to  the  point  whence  spreads  around  the  Present. 

Wrapp'd  in  its  sandy  robe,  the  ghost  of  Thebes 

Now  lies.    The  broken  column  and  the  arch 

Prostrate  in  ruin  where  the  Arab  rests 

In  the  cool  shadow^  with  his  camel's  bell 

Tinkling  amidst  the  silence,  tell  alone 

Where  once  she  gleamed — the  diadem  of  her  clime. 

Did  her  pale  shuddering  habitants  behold 

The  deluge  surging  from  the  horizon,  down 

Upon  them  ?     Did  its  mighty  flood  dash  in 

Her  hundred  brazen  gates,  and  thro'  her  haJla 

Kush  in  tremendous  fury,  and  up,  up. 

Swell  billow  upon  billow,  till  the  last 

Wan  wretch  upon  the  city's  highest  roof 

Saw  dome  on  dome  sink  down,  before  his  lips 

Bubbled  within  the  greedy  element  ? 

Did  Thebes  thus  view  the  awful  majesty 

Of  that  great  scene  ?     Here  Knowledge  was  enthroned, 

But  where  was  Liberty  ? 


POEM.  ^  31 

Upon  the  plains 
Of  Shinar  we  behold  the  two  together. 
Patriarch  Liberty  sat  before  his  tent, 
And  watched  the  sunset  streaming  o'er  the  scene, 
Lighting  his  flocks  and  herds ;  and,  as  the  gloom 
Of  twilight  spread  across  the  glimmering  plain, 
He  saw  the  long  rays  bathing  still  the  head 
Of  that  magnificent  tower  by  Knowledge  built. 
Until  it  seem'd  a  golden  cloud  in  heaven ; 
That  tower  which  soar'd  so  high,  the  very  stars 
Seem'd  larger  from  its  summit.     There  it  stood, 
The  puny  challenger  of  God,  until 
His  wrathful  lightning  smote  it  to  the  dust, 
And  strew'd  it  round — the  ruins  of  a  mountain. 

Along  the  Nile  then  Kaowledge  brightly  trod, 

With  Noah's  families  from  the  Euphrates'  banks, 

And  Shinar's  scattered  tribes  of  many  tongues. 

Cities  arose  within  her  foot  prints  ;  here 

The  mystic  Sphynx  was  moulded — there  was  reared 

The  slow  increasing  pyramid,  that  gre"w 

As  grows  the  isle  beneath  the  coral-insect, 

O'er  whose  proud  tops  the  Pharaoh's  vainly  deem'd 

Their  names  would  shine  to  future  years,  as  stars 

O'er  Alpine  peaks.     But  where  was  Liberty  ? 

Helpless  she  lay  beneath  the  ruthless  heel 

Of  Menai's  line  and  the  fierce  Shepherd-Kings. 

On  the  Chaldean  plains  at  length  the  Twain 

Were  linked  in  mutual  love.     "Wliilst  Knowledge  soared 

Up  to  the  stars,  threading  their  golden  maze, 

And  bidding  them  their  sparkling  secrets  show. 

Liberty  twin'd  her  garlands  round  her  crook. 

Piped  her  sweet  airs,  and  watched  her  nibbling  flocks. 

Then,  bursting  on  the  sight — a  splendid  orb. 

Like  the  magnificent  morning  star,  when  sky 

AU  else  is  bare,  but  blazing  o'er  the  spot 

Where  soon  will  flash  the  dawn — great  Homer  sprang 

Sparkling  o'er  rising  Greece.     Then  Athens  rose ; 

Pentelicus  oped  its  treasures,  and  their  snow 

Glittered  on  the  Acropolis  in  shapes 


33  PHILOMATHEAN    CELEBRATION. 

Various  as  Fancy's  visions ;  on  the  plain 
The  temple  showed  its  colums  of  wreath'd  vine 
And  budding  blossom,  vying  vdth  the  flowers 
Upon  Hymettus  ;  radiant  forms  leap'd  out 
From  the  cold  marble,  as  Praxitiles 
Or  Phidias  touched  it ;  rich  tints  sprang  from  forth 
Apelles'  brain,  as  rainbows  from  the  sun. 
And  gleamed  on  the  ennobled  canvas  fix'd, 
As  hues  upon  the  opal ;  Poesy 
Touch'd  her  bright  harp  along  the  palace-fronts, 
And  in  the  temple  squares.    Philosophy, 
Seated  on  Plato's  tongue,  amidst  the  shades 
Dwelt  of  green  Academus.    As  the  bark 
Skimm'd  azure  Salamis,  the  sailor  saw 
The  column'd  tomb  of  fam'd  Themistocles 
Upon  its  Cape.     The  dying  soldier,  borne 
From  the  fierce  fight  upon  his  dripping  shield. 
Fixed  his  last  gaze  upon  the  Parthenon, 
On  whose  v^rhite  w^alls  he  hoped  to  live  forever. 
The  peasant,  bringing  to  the  market-place 
-  His  melons  from  the  mountain,  heard  the  words 
Of  Eschylus  from  out  the  fane  of  Bacchus, 
Or  stood  entranced,  as  great  Demosthenes 
Stem  thundered  from  the  Bema.    Knowledge  there 
Stood  with  her  radiant  head  amidst  the  stars, 
But  Liberty  scarce  deigned  to  show  her  brow 
From  her  steep  rocky  home ;  or  fitfully. 

If  came  she,  chains,  though  w^reath'd  with  flowers,  still  chains, 
Held  half  her  limbs  ;  and  then  with  clanging  speed, 
Dash'd  Alexander's  chariot  o'er  the  world, 
And  dragg'd  her,  pale  and  bleeding,  at  its  wheel. 

Then  fell  a  mighty  stamp  upon  the  Earth 

That  rock'd  beneath  the  blow.     'Twas  Rome  that  stood 

With  iron  armor  on  his  giant  limbs, 

The  brazen  eagle  glittering  on  his  head. 

And  in  his  grasp  a  spear  that  swept  around 

Its  circle,  and  the  World,  on  crouching  knee, 

Lifted  its  trembling  hands,  and,  with  blanched  cheek 

And  accents  quivering  with  its  terror,  said, 

*'  Mercy,  great  Rome !" 


POEM. 

Beside  the  Capitol 
Rome  stood,  within  his  left  hand  Knowldge  grasped, 
Within  his  right  that  spear.     He  frowned,  and  lo  ! 
Darkness  crept  o'er  the  shuddering  brow  of  Eai-th, 
To  the  broad  dashing  Caspian  here,  and  there 
To  wild  mysterious  Britain's  Druid-oaks. 
But  where  was  Liberty  ? — a  shout ! — behold 
Yon  Scythian  dragged  up  the  Tarpaeian  Rock, 
His  brawny  limbs  where  hangs  the  wolf's  dark  skin, 
(The  wolf,  his  hands  had  torn  asunder  near 
The  Baltic's  stormy  waters,)  knotted  round 
With  fetters  ;  mark  his  fierce  eyes  gleaming  out 
From  the  rough  ambush  of  his  streaming  hair. 
See,  how  he's  toss'd  at  the  contemptuous  foot 
Of  the  stern  iron  warrior  who  unbinds  ' 

His  fetters,  but  to  thrust  within  his  grasp 
The  gladiator's  sword,  and  bid  him  fight 
Amid  the  Coliseum's  jeers  and  taunts, 
A  caged  and  lash'd  wild  beast  for  Rome's  high  pleasure. 

But  whilst  the  brazen  eagle  towered  the  highest, 

And  the  mailed  stride  was  heaviest,  midst  the  great 

And  solemn  forests  where  the  Danube  roll'd. 

Where  the  Alps  pierced  the  sky  with  icy  spears, 

And  sloped  the  Pyrenees,  there  Liberty, 

Run  wild  with  scourging  and  made  mad  for  vengeance, 

Was  nursing  her  rude  energies  and  strength ; 

Curbing  the  war-horse  ;  braving  hunger's  pangs ; 

Breasting  the  torrent  and  the  tempest  daring. 

And  banding  all  her  numbers  into  one. 

At  length  the  period  came.     As  "when  its  bounds 

Bursts  Ocean,  rolling  onward  -wave  on  wave. 

Foaming  and  dashing  full  of  woe  and  doom — 

So  burst  those  numbers  from  their  Northern  homes. 

Rolling  upon  their  far  and  destined  vray. 

Rome  saw  the  approach  and  mustered  all  bis  force. 

In  sternest  will  and  self  dependence  strung 

His  arm  to  newer  strength,  and  reared  his  form 

To  greater  grandeur,  and  with  flashing  eye. 

The  shock  awaited.     Awful  was  that  shock 

And  terrible  the  strife  !     The  gleaming  wing 


33 


34  PHILOMATHEAN   CELEBRATIOUJ. 

Of  the  proud  eagle  never  yet  had  stooped, 

And  thick  and  heavy  rained  that  arm  its  blows ; 

Loud  pealed  the  war-cry  from  those  haughty  lips, 

And  at  each  stamping  of  his  foot,  the  blood 

Of  myriad  victims  gushed  up  to  his  brow. 

But  still  the  foes  swarm'd  round  him ;  on  Ijis  shield 

The  feathered  arrow  of  the  Baltic  rang ; 

Upon  his  breast  the  Danube's  wrar-club  sank, 

The  Rhine's  rude  battle-axe  fell  on  his  head. 

Now  Alaric's  shout  came  swelling  on  the  wind. 

And  now  the  cry  of  Attila  rose  shrill 

Above  the  rushing  tempest.     Back,  still  back, 

Rome  yielded ;  from  his  outward  battlements — 

Along  his  streets — ^his  glorious  temples  past — 

Beneath  his  arches — and  now  up  the  steep 

Where  shone  his  Capitol.     Upon  its  steps 

His  form  he  planted — ^back  he  hurls  his  foe ; 

Again  they  spring,  and  back  again  he  casts  them. 

But  that  strong  arm  is  weary,  and  the  eye 

Is  drooping,  and  those  feet  are  clogg'd  with  forma 

That  arm  hath  struck — the  eye-balls  of  the  foe 

Glare  wilder — ^louder  is  their  cry — ^their  hand 

Smites  fiercer — ^ha !  that  crest  is  bowed — ^proud  Rome 

Is  on  his  knee — he  sinks— and  with  one  cry 

Of  wildest  joy  and  vengeance,  up  the  steps 

Of  the  red  Capitol  the  foeman  springs. 

Strikes  one  more  blow,  and,  planting  then  his  foot 

Upon  the  prostrate  crest,  peals  forth  a  shout 

Of  triumph,  which,  re-echoing  thro'  the  World 

Where'er  has  penetrated  race  of  man. 

Tells  that  that  World  is  free — for  Rome  has  fallen. 

As  if  to  prove  the  noted  prophecy 

That  when  Rome  fell,  the  Earth  would  perish  too, 

Within  the  vacuum  left  by  that  proud  head, 

As  down  it  sank,  there  rush'd  a  rayless  night 

Which  settled  in  thick  murky  gloom,  save  where 

Byzantium's  city  glittered  like  an  eye 

Radiant  with  intellect  amidst  the  deep 

Blacl^  midnight.     Liberty  and  Knowledge  both 

Were  hid  beneath  the  curtain  of  the  gloom. 


POEM.  35 

But  Mind  began  to  stir  again,  and  light 

The  torch  of  Knowledge.     Architecture  rear'd 

Its  castles  on  the  crags — in  mountain-paths 

And  by  the  lakes.     Within  the  valleys  green, 

Smiling  in  rural  loveliness,  it  placed 

Its  massive  abbeys,  on  their  columns  low  ; 

And  in  the  dark,  walled  towns,  midst  high  peak'd  roofs 

It  rear'd  the  gorgeous  church  w^ith  rich  grained  roof, 

Wreathed  pillars,  sculptured  niches,  arches  bright, 

And  tinted  windows.     Poetry  was  link'd 

To  music,  and  both  dwelt  within  the  harp 

Of  the  gay  Troubadour,  from  land  to  land 

Who  wandered,  with  Romance  his  only  guide. 

The  bold  Crusader  left  his  castle  gray, 

And  sought  the  East  where  still  Byzantium's  eye 

Shone  steadily,  returning  'with  its  lore — 

The  Knight  chivalric  went  thro'  every  clime 

With  lance  in  rest,  and  his  bright  "  ladye  love" 

Upon  his  lips.     The  monk  his  cloister  cheered, 

Tracing  his  parchment  and  his  missal  edging 

With  glowing  colors.     Brunelleschi  wreath'd 

His  sculptured  jBowers.     Great  Dante  poured  his  soul 

In  fire  along  his  harp.     The  laurel  wreath 

Was  hung  on  Petrarch's  brow.     The  Medici 

Made  Florence  like  the  sun.     The  canvas  flashed 

Beneath  the  brush  of  Raphael,  and  contended 

Sculpture  and  Painting,  w^hich  the  greenest  w^reath 

Should  grace  the  head  of  Angelo ;  and  yet 

Liberty  groan'd  beneath  the  heaviest  chains 

Of  stem  Feudality ;  her  darkest  hours 

Were  there ;  for  e'en  in  Greek  and  Roman  days 

She  bore  in  deserts  inaccessible 

The  quiver,  the  Numidian  lion  slew. 

And  told  wild  tales  within  the  tent  at  night. 

But  the  bright  cheering  morning  dawn'd  at  last. 
The  blessed  fifteenth  century  arose. 
And  w^ondrous  changes  came  upon  the  world. 
Mind  threw  its  shackles  off;  the  soul  took  wings, 
And  every  where,  the  human  heart,  aroused, 
Heaved  with  convulsive  movements,  till  the  sea 


36  PHILOMATHEAN    CELEBRATION. 

Of  being  surged  with  high  and  mighty  things. 
The  compass  pointed  with  its  eloquent  finger 
The  mariner's  path  across  the  hitherto 
Dreaded  and  unknown  billow ;  the  black  dust, 
Imprisoning  the  deadly  flame  that  changed 
Blind  horrid  massacre  to  skillful  War, 
From  Nature's  inmost  secrets  had  been  wrung. 
The  sail  of  great  Columbus,  where  the  West 
Shut  down  upon  the  Ocean's  naked  waste, 
Swept  boldly,  till  its  silvery  spot  was  seen 
Like  the  far  sea-bird's  wing,  and  then  was  lost 
Within  the  misty  circle,  as  Fear  thought, 
Forever,  but  was  destined  to  emerge 
Soon  from  that  dusky  ring  with  tidings  grand 
That  a  New  World  within  the  West  was  found ! — 
The  Moorish  Crescent  from  Alhambra's  towers 
Had  disappeared  before  the  cross  of  Spain, 
So  that  once  more  on  Guadalquivir's  banks 
The  peasant's  sickle  gleam'd  amidst  the  grain, 
And  in  green  valleys  of  the  Pyrenees, 
The  light  click  of  the  castanet  was  heard 
At  sunset  midst  the  vineyards,  or  as  glow'd 
The  splendid  Moon  above  the  terraced  olives. 
And  last — the  Printing  Press  !  that  tongue — that  foot- 
That  breath  of  Knowledge  ;  the  four  faced — four  winged- 
As  in  Ezekiel's  vision,  looking  at 
The  quarters  four  of  heaven ;  the  chariot 
Of  the  inspired  Nahum  with  its  torch 
And  lightning  speed — the  glorious  Printing  Press  ! 
Had  sprung  from  that  great  wondrous  fane  of  thought, 
That  curious  laboratory — apex  bright 
Of  bright  creation — eagle  eyrie  built 
On  Nature's  loftiest  summit — crowning  gem 
Of  all  that  God  hath  wrought — the  brain  of  man ! 
Knowledge  arose  and  Liberty  beside. 
Embracing,  they  exchanged  in  love  their  gifts. 
Liberty  gave  her  scorn  of  Tyranny 
To  Knowledge ;  Knowledge  gave  to  Liberty 
Her  starry  brow,  and  both  then,  towering  up, 
Called  out  for  Right.     The  cry  re-echoed  round. 


POEM.  37 

The  hardy  Vaudois  took  his  Avooden  horn, 

Whose  melody  had  cheer'd  his  leaping  goats 

In  grassy  vales,  and  woke  the  lammergyer 

From  its  white  glacier,  seized  his  scythe,  swnng  late 

Within  the  mountain-pasture,  and  went  forth 

To  battle.     The  stern  Covenanter  rose, 

And  with  his  deep  w^ar-hymn  the  eagle  roused 

Within  his  rocky  glen ;  blent  clash  of  swords 

With  the  low  rumble  of  the  waterfall, 

And  scared  the  stag  with  shots,  until  at  last 

He  read  his  Bible  by  his  musket's  flash, 

And  with  his  very  weapon  carved  his  food. 

Then  a  whole  mighty  empire  sprang  to  arms. 

Knowledge  and  Liberty  fought  side  by  side  ; 

And  England,  merry  England  blushed  with  blood 

And  rang  vi^ith  shrieks,  until  at  last  the  cloud 

Asunder  broke,  and  from  its  depths  stepped  forth, 

As  in  the  vision  of  the  Apocalypse, 

Knowledge  and  Liberty  in  glorious  triumph. 

Upon  that  lovely  land,  our  mother  land, 

Land  of  broad  parks,  green  lanes  and  castles  gray, 

Time  honored  lineages,  time  honored  laws, 

Whose  bayonet  is  the  lightning  of  the  earth, 

And  mighty  keel  the  trident  of  the  sea. 

And  whose  green  ivy  is  the  emblem  meet 

Of  her  prosperity — sweet  smiling  land. 

Garden  of  earth .'  and  great  as  beautiful ! 

Knowledge  impressed  her  path,  that,  brightening  in 

The  lapse  of  years,  is  now  the  Milky  Way 

Among  the  scattered  stars  of  other  nations ; 

Whilst  Liberty,  with  wishes  disciplined, 

Diffused  a  tempered  lustre  round  the  throne, 

Bending  to  things  long  settled,  until  now 

We  see  the  Lion  by  a  woman  led. 

And  then  the  twain  departed,  led  by  God 

To  tame  the  Western  World  His  hand  had  given, 

Not  to  one  race,  but  universal  Man, 

Upon  a  storm-urged  vessel's  reeling  deck 

Stood  the  two  angels.     On  the  May  Flower  dashed, 

Now  like  an  eagle  scaling  watery  peaks, 


38  PHILOMATHEAN    CELEBRATION. 

And  speeding  down  within  deep  furrows  now, 

As  if  to  shelter  there  her  frightened  wing. 

Still  on  the  May  Flower  dash'd ;  the  Winter  blast 

Shrieked  through  her  tattered  sails ;  still  on  she  dash'd, 

For  in  her  fragile  hull  the  principle, 

The  germ  of  a  magnificent  empire,  lay, 

As  the  great  oak  is  folded  in  its  acorn. 

And  God  watched  o'er  it  in  the  sable  cloud. 

The  dashing  billow,  and  the  whistling  gale. 

At  length  the  icy,  slippery  rock  w^as  near. 

And  down  the  anchor  of  the  May  Flower  plunged. 

She  furl'd  her  wings,  like  some  weak  bird  long  driven 

By  the  fierce  storm,  but  safety  finds  at  last. 

On  went  those  stern,  pure  hearted,  gallant  men ; 

Knowledge  and  Liberty  with  pointing  hands 

Shewing  the  way.     What  though  the  forest  stretch'd 

Broad,  as  another  ocean,  to  their  gaze. 

Where  echoed  the  deep  thunder  of  the  blast, 

And  the  leaves  toss'd  like  billows.     What  though  glared 

The  midnight  fields  with  flames  that  wrapp'd  their  huts, 

Whilst  the  red  warriors  w^ith  their  tomahawks. 

Blending  their  war-whoops  with  the  crackling  air, 

Eush'd  on  them  as  they  sallied  forth,  and  dash'd 

The  babe  upon  the  earth,  and  wrench'd  the  scalp 

From  age,  and  hushed  the  shrieks  of  womanhood 

With  knives ;  what  though  the  famish'd  wolf  howl'd  round 

Their  homes>  and  from  the  mountain  branches  leap'd 

The  panther  down  upon  them ;  what  though  lay 

The  snow-drifts  mid  the  boundless  woods,  so  deep 

The  hemlock  show'd  but  half  its  pyramid, 

With  hunger  coming  nearer  every  day. 

Whilst  in  the  watches  of  the  night  they  heard 

The  wailings  of  the  wind,  that  seem'd  to  say, 

"  Wanderers,  return  to  your  old  homes  again ! 

The  grass  is  greening  there — the  primrose  sets 

Its  silver  star  within  the  winding  lanes — 

The  breath  of  early  flowers  is  rising  up. 

For  spring  is  coming ;" — what,  when  Summer  hung 

The  woods  with  beauty,  though  the  settler  knew 

That  the  rude  path  which  left  his  clearing,  ran 


POEM.  39 

For  weary  days  amidst  the  savage  wild, 

Where  scarce  the  keenest  sunbeam  struggled  through. 

Without  a  single  kindred  voice  or  hand 

To  answer  or  meet  his  ;  what  though  all  these  ! 

The  cabin  was  rebuilt — the  tawoiy  foe 

Driven  to  his  haunts  once  more — the  wolf  was  slain — 

And  the  fierce  panther  yielded  his  brown  skin  ' 

To  spread  the  hunter's  couch,  when  winking  stars 

Watch'd  o'er  the  camp-fire.     Ofi"  the  snow-drifts  went ; 

Spring  came,  and  in  the  hill-lot  whistled  sweet 

The  blue-bii'd,  as  the  brawny  settler  svning 

His  biting  axe  upon  the  scaly  oak. 

And  the  woodpecker  rattled  on  its  tree, 

Uutil  he  thought  he  heard  once  more  the  fife 

And  drum,  as  once  at  Naseby,  whilst  his  blood 

Thrill'd  with  the  joy  and  fervor  of  his  youth. 

Thus  went  the  two  white  Angels  of  my  theme, 

Each  holding  to  her  heart  her  talisman, 

Knowledge  the  Bible,  Liberty  the  Law, 

Whilst  Industry  presented  them  his  axe. 

And,  like  the  mists  of  morn,  the  woods  roll'd  off 

From  Nature,  and  the  sunshine  kiss'd  her  cheek, 

Until  it  mantled  with  rich  life,  and  glow'd 

With  all  its  fresh  and  virgin  loveliness. 

Liberty,  as  the  hunter,  went  ahead, 

Stamping  light  paths  amidst  the  unknown  woods 

To  find  the  deer — ^unlocking  lovely  vales 

To  set  the  trap — ^uncovering  the  clean  spring 

To  plant  the  hut  of  logs,  and  tracing  up, 

In  the  canoe,  just  fashion'd  from  the  tree, 

The  river's  course  to  lure  the  finny  spoil.  ^ 

And  Knowledge  followed  after,  the  light  path 

To  widen  to  a  road — to  change  the  vale 

Into  rich  grain-fields — spread  the  lonely  hut 

Into  a  city,  and  the  river's  depths 

To  rouse  vdth  ceaseless  rush  of  busy  keels. 

And  thus,  the  ointment  of  the  fairy  tale 
Changed  scarce  the  desert  into  fields  and  roofs 
More  sudden  to  the  eye  it  touched,  than  these, 


40  PHILOMATHEAN    CELEBRATION. 

The  blessed  Twain,  our  glorious  country  changed, 

Mowing  the  forests  into  harvest-fields, 

Or  hewing  their  proud  summits  into  cities. 

Survey  w^e  now  our  Empire  ;  Poetry 

Eesigns  her  harp,  for  every  eye  can  see. 

And  every  heart  can  feel  our  power  and  glory. 

Near  a  broad  river,  one  stern  winter's  day 
I  stood ;  its  rigid  chains  the  frost  had  wrought. 
The  earth  was  cased  in  ice — the  roofs  were  ice — 
The  very  chimnies,  reeking  with  their  fires, 
^  Were  tipp'd  with  icy  silver ;  the  deep  sky 

Sparkled  in  keenest  azure,  with  wreath'd  clouds 

Crispy  and  sharp,  strewed  o'er  in  frothy  flakes. 

So  cutting  w^as  the  edgy  air,  it  stung 

My  brow  as  if  with  needle-points ;  the  cold 

Appeared  slow^  eating  way  into  my  heart. 

The  towering  pine  beside  me  was  held  fast 

In  fetters,  and  though  swept  a  wind  along. 

Not  e'en  the  lightest  fibre  of  its  shape. 

That  high  and  haughty  woodland  King,  could  stir. 

The  slender  top  that  bent  when  bland  sweet  airs 

Caress'd  it  in  the  summer  noontide,  now 

Stood  like  a  spear-point  flashing  in  the  sun. 

Nature  seemed  held  the  tyrant  Winter's  slave, 

So  abject  in  his  power,  her  very  life 

Looked  stricken  from  her  heart ; — 

Just  then  a  gust 
Brought  a  deep  thunder-roll  upon  my  ear. 
And,  swift  advancing  to  the  brink,  I  saw 
Niagara  plunging  headlong  down  its  rocks, 
Shaking  my  very  being  to  its  center. 
And  giving,  with  its  mighty  strength,  the  earth 
And  trees  one  general  tremor.     Roar  and  crash 
Were  blended.     The  majestic  arch  sprang  o'er 
And  disappeared  in  white  and  tumbling  chaos, 
Whence  rose  again  a  glittering  diamond  shape, 
Where  danced  a  rainbow,  gorgeous  as  the  one 


POEM.  41 

That  sprang  above  the  Ark  at  Ararat. 

As  there  I  looked  with  my  excited  eye, 

It  seemed  like  that  great  angel  which  did  come 

To  John's  enkindled  vision,  "  down  from  heaven, 

Clothed  wdth  a  cloud,"  a  rainbow  on  his  head, 

With  thunders  uttering  voices  where  he  stood. 

Could  fetters  bind  it  ?  why,  it  shouted  hoarse 

Its  deep  disdain,  and  hiss'd  its  very  scorn; 

Rolling  and  rolling,  plunging,  dashing  down. 

In  wrathful  strife  its  fierce,  tremendous  floods ; 

Oh  what  could  chain  that  mighty  w^atery  mammoth ! 

With  its  white  tusks,  its  flashing,  gleaming  shape ! 

That  Thunder-  Water,  as  the  red  man  called  it. 

Nought  !  and  as  on  its  grandeur  still  I  gazed, 

Emblem  sublime  it  seemed  of  LIBERTY. 

The  summer  sun  was  setting  on  the  hills 

That  wall  the  valley  of  that  lovely  stream, 

The  No-wah-dah-yeh  of  the  Iroquois,  , 

And  Mohawk  of  the  English.     The  rich  gold 

Tipp'd  the  thick  roofs  and  steeples  of  the  city, 

And,  slanting,  fell  on  fields  of  furrowing  corn 

And  billowy  wheat.     I  stood  beneath  a  tree, 

Where  sunset,  laughing  in  the  leaves,  let  down 

Glimpses  of  golden  green,  like  fire-fly  sparkles ; 

The  wind — ^made  sw^eet  with  kissing  flowers — roam'd  round, 

Fainting  with  fragrance — touch'd  the  lazy  grass, 

Then  fell,  and  fluttered  on  my  brow,  as  though 

'Twould  die  in  its  own  perftime,  and  the  bee 

Seem'd  loud  with  its  deep  hum  amidst  the  quiet ; 

Suddenly  pealed  a  bell  upon  my  ear. 

And  looking  round,  the  sun's  last  beams  I  saw 

Edging  the  two  gray  fabrics  on  their  hiU — 

Union  in  name  and  spirit — and  I  thought, 

As  pour'd  their  throngs  upon  the  green  before  them, 

They  stood  there  in  their  leam'd  and  high  repose, 

An  emblem  bright  and  beautiful  of  KNOWLEDGE. 


ORATION. 


Gentlemen  op  the  Philomathean  Society  : 

The  Literary  Societies  of  our  Colleges,  like  the  one  to 
which  we  belong,  are  voluntary  associations.  They  have 
their  origiUj  partly,  in  the  desire  for  more  intimate  and  se- 
lect fellowship  than  that  which  belongs  to  the  members  of 
the  College  in  general ;  but,  more  essentially,  in  that  strong 
and  noble  tendency  of  the  human  mind  to  throw  itself 
upon  its  own  resources,  to  create  for  itself  means  and  facil- 
ities of  improvement,  and  to  attain  to  the  consciousness  of 
self-developement. 

In  the  routine  of  College  studies  and  discipline,  we  are 
under  governors  and  tutors,  who  prescribe  for  us,  and  we 
have  only  to  obey.  This,  of  course,  is  demanded  in  the 
very  conception  of  formal  and  rudimental  education,  where 
erudition  and  experience  are  charged  with  the  task  of  fur- 
nishing the  beginnings  of  knowledge,  of  guiding  the  first 
efforts  of  thought,  and  of  initiating  the  unformed  and  inex- 
perienced into  legitimate  methods  and  a  right  worthy  dis- 
cipline, by  which  they  may  grow  up  to  be  men,  and  be- 
come prepared  to  think  and  act  for  themselves. 

But,  while  this  process  is  going  on,  the  young  mind 
gains  a  taste  of  its  own  capabilities ;  the  very  effort  to  ac- 
complish a  task  calls  out  a  sense  of  its  own  inward  life  and 
strength  : — in  receiving  nutriment  and  quickening  influen- 


44  PHILOMATHEAN  CELEBRATION. 

ces  from  the  soil,  the  atmosphere,  and  the  sunshine,  this 
self-conscious  germ  becomes  aware  of  what  itself  contri- 
butes by  its  own  organific  force ;  and  perceives,  very 
clearly,  that  the  soil,  the  atmosphere,  and  the  sunshine, 
would  avail  nothing,  unless  it  were  all  the  while  meeting 
them  with  its  own  law  and  self-creating  energy.  Thus 
this  very  education  under  governors  and  tutors  serves  to 
develope  the  conception  of  another,  and  indeed  the  ultimate 
form  of  education — the  education  of  one's-self  by  one's  own 
thought,  purpose  and  effort.  This  is  the  education  upon 
which  we  enter,  when  we  leave  the  Institution's  of  learn- 
ing, and  go  abroad  into  the  world  : — an  education  which 
runs  parallel  with  this  mortal  life — which  runs  parallel 
with  this  immortal  being. 

Now  in  the  midst  of  our  College  life,  where  the  system 
of  education  prescribed  is  wise,  genial  and  generous,  is  it 
not  natural  for  these  young  ardent  minds,  smit  with  the 
love  of  knowledge,  and  earnest  in  self  cultivation,  to  feel  an 
impulse  to  try  their  own  hand  at  creating  Institutions,  col- 
lecting means  of  improvement,  and  forming  modes  of  dis- 
cipline, by  which  they  shall  help  themselves  and  help  one 
another,  and  co-operate  genially  with  the  authoritative  dis- 
cipline prescribed  by  College  statutes  ?  Thus  spring  into 
existence  the  Society  Halls,  with  their  libraries  and  cabi- 
nets ;  thus  appear  the  self-imposed  courses  of  reading,  the 
stirring  debates,  the  cultivation  of  composition  and  oratory, 
manly  efforts  at  criticism,  and  all  the  life  interest,  social 
attachments  and  invaluable  results  of  volmitary  and  inde- 
pendent literary  association. 

The  Philomathean  is  the  oldest  Society  of  this  kind 
connected  with  our  Alma  Mater.  It  indeed  began  its  career 
in  the  Academy  which  formed  the  germ  of  the  College,  and 


ORATION.  45 

it  has  grown  with  its  growth,  and  strengthened  with  its 
strength. 

As  the  College  increased,  the  same  law  of  literary  asso- 
ciation, which  called  into  being  this  Society,  called  into 
being  also  other  worthy  societies  of  the  same  kind.     Such 
a  society  loses  much  of  its  interest,  where  it  embraces  too 
large  a  number ;  for  then  its  life  is  too  thinly  diffused  into 
many  members,  and  a  too  abundant  foliage  prevents  a  rich 
produce  of  perfected  fruit.     Select  fellowship  now  perishes. 
There  will   arise   also   peculiarties   of  views   and   tastes. 
Thus  occasions  must  exist  for  new  organizations  accom- 
plishing the  same  general  end.     Then  a  manly  competition 
will  follow  ;  and  many  a  talent  and  noble  energy,  which 
had  been  slumbering  in  the  old  all  comprehending  associa- 
tion, will  be  brought  to  light  in  the  ambition  and  the  inte- 
rest of  the  new  undertaking.     And  ever  afterwards  side  by 
side  will  they  move  onwards,  striving  in  a  race  where 
many  crowns  are  to  be  won  ;  and  where  the  success  of  one 
competitor  only  serves   to  stimulate   the  others.     In   the 
Olympic  Games  he  only  wore  the  olive  crown  who  had 
overcome  all  competitors  ;  and  the  triumph  of  one  brought 
humiliation  and  despair  to  many.     In  this  race,  disgrace 
attends  only  inactivity  and  imbecility.     Here,  a  just  mea- 
sure of  success  is  awarded  to  every  worthy  exertion.     Wide 
and  fair  and  full  of  sunlight  are  the  fields  of  literature ; 
every  hill  is  crowned  with  olives,  every  valley  sparkling 
with  fountains.     Here,  every  soul  smit  with  the  love  of 
truth,  the  love  of  the  beautiful  and  the  good,  may  drink  at 
pleasure,  and  walk  in  friendship  with  the  beautiful  Apollo, 
and  receive  from  him  a  fitting  wreath,  plucked  from  the 
sacred  Olive. 

The  Philomathean  Society,  in  celebrating  this  semi-cen- 
tennial, claims  to  be  the  oldest  Society  of  our  Alma  Mater, 


46  PHILOMATHEAN   CELEBRATION. 

and  the  parent  of  the  others.  She  looks  upon  them  with 
eyes  of  benignity  and  love  : — she  blesses  and  is  proud  of 
her  offspring :  and  she  feels  assured  that  they  cannot  be 
indifferent  to  an  occasion  which  recals  a  common  origin, 
common  pursuits,  and  exalts  the  aims  and  sympathies  of  a 
common  literary  life.  Or  if  the  claim  of  parentage  be  too 
ambitious,  then  we  will  clasp  hands  as  the  sister  "  fair- 
cheeked"  Graces  ;  and  she  will  be  Aglaia  with  Euphrosyne 
and  Thalia  on  either  hand — Splendor  surrounded  by  Joy 
and  Pleasure. 

What  thoughts  crowd  into  this  hour  !  Philomatheans  ! 
were  all  here  assembled  who  have  borne  our  name  and  worn 
our  badge,  more  than  twelve  hundred  human  beings  would 
claim  our  fellowship— a  number  nearly  equal  to  half  of  the 
graduates  of  our  Alma  Mater.  Of  these,  two  hundred  or 
more  are  numbered  with  the  dead.  Some  have  fallen  in 
early  prime  ;  some  at  their  noontide  ;  and  some,  after  life's 
long  weary  day,  have  gone  to  repose  with  the  setting  sun. 
Some  have  died  in  the  bosom  of  their  homes  ;  some  have 
left  their  bones  on  foreign  shores.  Among  our  dead,  are 
names  that  gave  glorious  promise  when  they  were  un- 
timely cut  down ;  others,  that  left  void,  places  of  high  hon- 
or, trust,  and  sacred  usefulness  ;  and  to  a  few  has  been 
allotted,  what  the  conditions  of  humanity  never  allot  to  the 
many,  to  fill  up  the  measure  of  their  days  in  deeds  of  pat- 
riotism, humanity,  and  holy  benevolence,  and  to  be  gath- 
ered in  as  shocks  fully  ripe. 

If  the  survivors  were  all  present,  it  would  be  but  a  more 
numerous  throng  of  what  is  here  now  represented.  We 
who  met  in  different  groups,  in  different  years,  in  yonder 
venerable  hall,  with  one  common  character — companies  of 
ardent,  ingenuous,  ambitious  youth,  eagerly  looking  out 
upon  the  wide  world — to  us  a  world  of  promise, — We  have 


ORATION.  47 

come  together  now,  gathered  from  that  world  in  which  we 
have  been  running  our  race  ; — We  have  come  from  com- 
munities widely  separated  and  diversified,  from  every  va- 
riety of  pursuit,  and  having  endured  every  form  of  human 
discipline  and  trial :  We  are  men  of  different  generations, 
shewing  different  touches  of  time.  Hoary  age,  ripened 
manhood,  manhood  in  its  prime,  and  youth  merging  into 
manhood — we  stand  together  on  this  mount  of  Observation  ; 
around  us  the  shadows  of  the  past  are  gathered  ;  and  upon 
us  shines  the  light  of  the  future : — Here  are  the  evening 
and  the  morning. 

Many  meet  now  who  never  met  before  in  this  fellow- 
ship :  w^e  are  filled  with  emotions  of  strangeness  and  sur- 
prise as  we  look  upon  each  other,  and  we  are  ready  to 
exclaim,  can  it  be  that  we  were  once  alike,  that  we  occu- 
pied the  same  places,  and  were  busy  in  the  same  pursuits  ! 
Some  meet  now  who  have  met  before  in  this  fellowship  ; — 
whose  merry  feet  trod  together  the  well  beaten  paths,  who 
reclined  together  on  these  green  banks,  whose  cheerful 
voices  made  accordant  music,  who  sat  together  in  the  So- 
ciety hall,  or  sauntered  through  the  library,  who  were 
bosom  friends  or  manly  competitors  in  that  little  secluded 
world,  with  its  politics,  strifes,  interests  and  honors.  How 
changed  from  what  we  were  !  We  bear  the  marks  of  the 
toil — we  are  covered  with  the  dust  of  the  conflicts  of  life. 
And  yet  the  true  heart  within  us  is  not  changed.  We  look 
upon  each  others  faces,  and  beneath  these  marks  of  years, 
and  these  scars  of  duty,  there  brighten  up  the  features  of 
our  early  youth.  Long  slumbering  feelings  reawaken— - 
the  seal  of  time  is  melted,  and  the  soul  speaks  in  voices 
that  we  have  heard  before. 

The  enduring  property  of  friendship  depends  upon  its 
character — upon  the  principles  which  Ue  at  its  foundation. 


48  PHILOMATHEAN   CELEBRATION. 

There  are  many  pleasant  friendships  which  are  not  deep, 
and  pass  away  with  the  occasion  and  the  hour.  They  are 
chance  flowers  scattered  here  and  there  along  our  path, 
yielding  a  grateful  fragrance,  and  then  wither  and  are  for- 
gotten. The  enduring  friendships  spring  up  from  some 
remarkable  congeniality  of  temper,  from  being  associated 
in  great  and  good  works,  and  from  a  community  of  noble 
aims.  Human  souls,  like  plates  of  polished  glass,  cohere 
from  the  nice  correspondency  of  their  attracting  points. 
But  it  is  not  in  the  nature  of  the  human  soul  to  have  its 
mighty  depths  stirred  by  trivial  interests ; — its  strongest 
affections  cannot  be  given  without  an  adequate  object. 
The  light,  the  vain,  and  the  thoughtless,  can  love  nothing 
well  and  enduringly.  They  love  themselves  best  of  all,  but 
they  love  themselves  only  as  a  vain  show.  They  degrade 
their  own  being  in  reducing  it  to  the  measure  of  their  own 
affection.  But  when  the  soul  loves  that  which  it  knows  is 
worthy  to  be  loved,  because,  in  its  own  inward  conscious- 
ness, it  perceives  how  it  answers  to  its  own  rational  idea 
and  spiritual  affection,  then  it  expands  itself  to  the  great- 
ness of  its  object,  and  becomes  one  with  it  by  a  deathless 
affinity.  Now  when  several  souls  thus  love  a  universal 
and  absolute  good,  they  must  love  one  another.  Each  soul 
becomes  to  the  others  a  mirror  in  which  are  reflected  the 
beautiful  heavens : — nay,  each  becomes  to  the  others  a 
form  of  spiritual  life  which  is  the  multiplication  of  its  own 
spiritual  life :  they  seem  to  have  a  multiform  existence — 
an  existence  in  themselves  by  the  individual  consciousness, 
and  an  existence  in  each  other  by  the  common  exalted 
affection.  Or,  they  seem  to  go  out  of  themselves,  and  to 
forget  themselves,  in  seeking  the  universal  good  and  fair  ; 
and  in  finding  this,  they  find  themselves,  and  meet  and 
embrace  each  other. 


ORATION.  49 

Nor  does  this  necessarily  presume  the  same  degree,  but 
only  the  same  principle  of  development :  for,  upon  many 
mountains  and  hills  of  different  altitudes,  rests  the  same 
sunlight,  as  they  lift  themselves  towards  the  same  heavens : 
and  the  lily  aspires  and  grows  upward,  as  well  as  the 
magnolia :  and  concentric  circles  have  one  centre,  although 
different  circumferences,  where  the  radii  of  the  vast  are  but 
the  prolongation  of  the  radii  of  the  minute.  Here  is  the 
harmony  of  souls — the  unity  of  the  spirit. 

The  pursuits  of  Literature  constitute  an  exemplification 
of  this  divine  principle.  Here  is  a  community  of  lofty  aims 
and  passions  which  bind  human  hearts  together : — in  be- 
coming  philomatheans  we  become  philanthropists — lovers 
of  learning,  we  are  lovers  of  man. 

Indeed,  when  we  speak  of  literature,  we  comprehend  the 
whole  action  of  the  human  mind  in  the  pursuit  and  disse- 
mination  of  knowledge  and  virtue.  Literature  is  written 
language ;  and  the  gift  of  language  is  coordinate  with  the 
gift  of  reason,  of  thought,  sensibihty  and  imagination. 
Without  these  high  faculties  and  functions,  man  would  be 
incapable  of  receiving,  comprehending,  or  using  language  ; 
and  with  these  he  cannot  but  have  language.  As  he  now 
uses  it,  what  a  scope  it  affords  to  his  faculties  !  How  it 
enables  him  to  multiply  and  diffuse  his  being  !  Has  he  a 
noble  thought,  he  can  now  make  it  reappear  in  myriads  of 
minds :  he  utters  a  few  sounds,  and  the  secret  thought 
which  was  known  only  to  himself,  takes  wings  and  flies 
abroad,  and  becomes  a  universal  possession :  he  makes  a 
few  marks  on  paper,  and  it  belongs  to  posterity.  Has  he  a 
feeling  boiling  up  from  the  depths  of  his  spirit,  and  thril- 
ling all  his  faculties,  he  has  but  to  frame  sounds  with  his 
lips,  and  multitudes  are  moved  as  the  sea  when  the  tem^ 


50  PHILOMATHEAN   CELEBRATION. 

pest  passes  over  it ;  or  he  marks  down  again  a  few  lines, 
and  his  passion  kindles  up  all  hearts  to  the  end  of  time. 

Does  some  beautiful  vision,  or  some  heroic  theme,  take 
possession  of  his  soul,  and  frame  itself  into  connected  inci- 
dents and  changing  scenes,  presenting  a  glorious  array  of 
men  and  things  and  great  deeds ; — at  once  it  runs  out  into 
sweet  and  melodious  sounds,  and  a  stirring  and  lofty  epic 
wakes  the  imagination  of  nations  and  of  ages.  Does  a 
people  distinguish  itself  by  its  legislators,  warriors,  artists, 
poets,  orators  and  philosophers ; — the  historian  holds  up 
the  great  example,  and  gives  it  in  charge  to  immortality. 
All  passions,  purposes,  thoughts,  discoveries,  inventions, 
and  imaginations — oratory,  history,  poetry,  philosophy,  sci- 
ence, find  their  expression  in  language,  their  vehicle  of 
communication,  and  the  instrument  of  their  power. 

Man  knows,  thinks,  feels,  and  wills.  The  activities  of 
his  mind  have  their  definite  laws  and  relations  ;  and  hence 
when  he  seeks  to  give  an  external  expression  of  his  inter- 
nal consciousness,  the  external  expression  must  have  defi- 
nite laws  and  relations  likewise.  What  his  mind  is  in  its 
inherent  capacities,  and  in  the  degree  and  mode  of  its 
developement,  such  will  his  language  be. 

There  are  two  impulses  which  lead  him  to  language. 
The  first  respects  the  individual  himself: — it  is  an  impulse 
of  his  intellectual  nature.  In  attempting  to  know  and 
comprehend  the  objects  every  where  presented  him,  he  is 
directed  by  a  law  of  his  mind  to  classify  them  ;  but  having 
classified  them,  he  requires  some  common  signs  by  which 
to  represent  the  different  classes.  While  he  is  attending  to 
individual  objects  merely,  he  may  carry  in  his  mind  the 
clear  and  full  conception  of  each  one  :  but  inasmuch  as  a 
general  classification  is  founded  upon  the  abstraction  of 
some  particular  quality  or  qualities  common  to  all  the  indi- 


ORATION.  51 

viduals,  and  yet  adequately  descriptive  of  no  particular 
one,  or  at  most  descriptive  of  the  lowest  order  only — it  is 
plain  he  can  make  no  representation  in  his  thought  which 
shall  strictly  embody  the  abstraction.  For  the  purposes  of 
his  own  thought,  therefore,  he  must  have  some  sign,  some 
form  of  language,  by  which  to  express  his  classifications* 

The  second  impulse  lies  in  his  social  nature.  The  indi- 
vidual man  cannot  isolate  himself; — he  is  one  of  many, 
and  the  bonds  are  strong  which  bind  him  to  his  fellows. 
Indeed  all  sensitive  creatures  are  impelled  in  some  way  to 
commune  with  their  kind,  and  they  all  have  signs  well 
imderstood  among  themselves.  But  man  has  a  commu- 
nity of  Reason,  beautiful  emotions,  glorious  imaginings, 
and  sacred  sympathies ;  and  therefore  he,  least  of  all,  is 
able  to  separate  himself  from  his  kind,  and  become  an  iso- 
lated being.  Man's  nature  commands  him  to  form  fami- 
lies, neighborhoods,  and  nations.  But  in  order  to  this  he 
must  have  language.  Language,  therefore,  is  a  spontane- 
ous outflow  of  his  social  nature. 

Spoken  language  grows  out  of  the  necessities  of  an 
intellectual  and  social  creature,  in  all  the  conditions  of  his 
being: — ^man  every  where  and  always  requires  spoken 
language. 

Written  language  grows  out  of  the  necessities  of  civili- 
zation and  refinement.  The  useful  arts,  legislation,  and 
commerce,  require  it  for  recording  principles,  laws,  and 
rules,  and  for  facilitating  the  exchange  of  commodities. 

But  these  alone  cannot  give  birth  to  literature.  A  nation 
must  have  sciences  and  scientific  men,  the  arts  of  the  beau- 
tiful and  artists,  philosophy  and  philosophers  ;  and  that  it 
may  have  poetry  and  history,  it  must  have  heroic  and  glo- 
rious recollections — a  strong  and  glowing  consciousness  of 
national  greatness.     A  mere  mechanical,  commercial  and 


52  PHILOMATHEAN  CELEBRATION. 

bargaining  people,  can  have  no  literature ;  for  the  mere 
calculating  and  utilitarian  functions  of  the  soul  do  not  con- 
tain the  elements  of  truth,  religion  and  beauty ;  and  hence 
they  cannot  supply  matter  worthy  of  enduring  record — 
they  can  only  give  the  story  of  the  homely  and  ordinary 
life,  which  is  ever  the  same. 

But  where  a  people  has  education  and  refinement  and 
great  men — there  will  be  both  matter  for  literature,  and  lite- 
rary productiveness.  And  the  history  of  such  a  people 
must  be  perpetuated. 

The  merchant,  with  his  stately  counting  houses  and 
proud  ships  may  pass  away ;  the  lofty  domes  of  exchanges, 
banks,  and  custom  houses,  be  crumbled  to  the  ground  ;  ca- 
nals and  railroads  choked  with  ruins  :  the  palaces  of  the 
rich  and  gay  may  vanish  like  a  morning  vapour ;  forms  of 
government  may  become  an  exploded  experiment,  and  migh- 
ty states  lose  their  existence  and  name  in  some  mightier  em- 
pire :  but  the  achievements  of  literature  will  stand  as  proud 
and  enduring  monuments  when  every  thing  else  is  for- 
gotten. 

In  one  point  of  view  Greece  is  perished  and  forgotten. 
For  centuries  trampled  down  as  a  poor  slave,  she  lost  the 
consciousness  of  national  existence  :  and  the  feeble  life  of 
her  modern  resurrection,  under  the  toy-like  sceptre  of  a  Ba- 
varian boy,  gives  no  promise  that  the  age  of  Pericles  or  of 
Miltiades  will  ever  return.  But  we  turn  from  a  miserable 
bigoted  people,  to  the  remains  of  her  ancient  art  and  litera- 
ture. Here  we  say,  Greece  is  not  forgotten.  The  ruined 
Parthenon  is  worth  more  than  the  living  kingdom.  The 
Greece  that  we  think  of  with  enthusiasm,  is  the  Greece 
which  has  handed  down  to  us  the  remains  of  the  chisel  of 
Praxitiles  and  Phidias ;  the  poems  of  Homer,  Hesiod,  ^Es- 
chylus,  Sophocles,  Euripides,  and  Pindar ;  the  histories  of 


ORATION.  53 

Thucidides,  Heroditus,  and  Xenophon  ;  the  logic  of  Aris- 
totle ;  the  philosophy  of  Plato — yes,  the  dialogues  of  the 
old  man  Socrates,  whom  the  world  reveres  as  the  holiest 
and  sublimest  of  philosophers,  but  to  whom  his  countrymen 
gave  the  cup  of  hemlock :  and  yet  they  have  perished 
while  he  lives — he  lives,  one  of  the  imperishable  monu- 
ments on  which  the  name  of  his  country  is  inscribed,  and 
by  which  his  coimtry  is  remembered. 

Nature  too  is  exalted  and  immortalized  by  the  touch  of 
genius.  Olympus,  Parnassus,  Hymettus,  and  Helicon,  are, 
in  themselves,  of  the  ordinary  type  ;  the  Ilissus  is  a  lazy 
insignificant  stream  ;  the  vale  of  Tempo  like  many  a  beau- 
tiful valley  which  nature  hath  made ;  but  song  and  philos- 
phy  have  given  them  undying  voices  of  majesty,  beauty) 
and  truth. 

"  Though  here  no  more  Apollo  haunts  the  grot, 
And  thou,  the  Muses'  seat,  art  now  their  grave, 

Some  gentle  spu*it  still  pervades  the  spot, 
Sighs  in  the  gale,  keeps  silence  in  the  cave. 

And  glides  v^rith  glassy  foot  o'er  yon  melodious  wave." 

Literature  and  art  alone  give  immortality  to  nations  ;  for, 
were  it  possible  for  a  nation  to  atttain  to  greatness  without 
them,  still,  without  them,  there  would  be  no  records  for 
posterity.  Surpassingly  momentous  therefore  is  the  voca- 
tion of  the  men  of  Art  and  Literature — strong  and  holy  the 
bonds  by  which  they  are  united  in  one  fraternity.  To 
them  are  committed  the  paramount  interests  of  humanity 
— the  life  of  society  is  beating  in  their  hearts. 

Alas  !  alas  !  their  fate  has  been  but  too  uniform  !     While 

living,  prone  to  be  regarded  as  drones  in  the  body  politic : 

— they  manufacture  no  fabrics  of  utility,  their  labors  do  not 

sustain  war,  nor  extend  commerce,  nor  make  increase  oi 

public  wealth.     Often  no  account  is  taken  of  them  while 

toiling  in  sadness  and  poverty,  and  they  wither  by  neglect, 

8 


54  PHILOMATHEAN    CELEBRATION. 

- — or  sink  into  the  grave  by  the  relentless  hand  of  persecu- 
tion— or  they  are  compelled  by  inexorable  necessity  to 
waste  energies  which  were  designed  for  the  world  of  beauty 
and  truth,  in  the  vulgar  world  of  politics  and  trade. 

And  when  they  are  gone,  their  countrymen  awake  as 
from  a  dream !  Then  they  exclaim,  The  great  and 
good  were  among  us,  and  we  knew  it  not !  We  saw  not 
the  Angel  of  light,  until  he  threw  off  the  mortal  robes  in 
which  he  was  disguised  !  And  yet,  when  they  turn  to 
the  works  which  he  has  left  behind,  there  are  the  marks  of 
the  Master  hand — -there  is  that  by  which  they  ought  to 
have  known  him. 

Then,  in  vain  regrets,  they  build  monuments  on  the  top 
of  sacred  mountains,  or  in  old  abbeys.  Then  they  boast 
to  other  nations  of  their  great  man ; — proudly  they  say, 
Have  you  a  Socrates,  a  Milton,  a  Shakspeare  ?  The  mur- 
dered philosopher,  the  poor  old  blind  and  persecuted  poet,  the 
obscure  player,  now  become  the  sapphire  foundations  of 
national  greatness  and  glory.  Now  it  seems  that  a  nation 
could  spare  any  of  the  monuments  of  its  pride  and  grand- 
eur, rather  than  the  works  and  the  memory  of  its  great 
men. 

Could  Socrates,  Milton,  and  Shakspeare  return  to  our 
world  in  their  identical  forms  and  characters,  how  the  mul- 
titude would  rush  to  see  those  kings  of  thought !  what  a 
universal  homage  !  what  expressions  of  love  and  admira- 
tion would  be  heaped  upon  them  !  And  yet,  by  a  sort  of 
metempsychosis,  which  sometimes  takes  place,  let  them 
reappear  in  other  forms  and  under  other  names,  and  the 
same  fate,  which  smote  them  in  their  ancient  forms,  might 

await  them  again. 

If 

^   But  are  there  not  exceptions  to  this  sad  picture  ?    Have 
not  Letters  and  Art  sometimes  met  with  noble  rewg^rds  ? 


ORATION.  85 

And  as  society  advances,  does  there  not  appear  an  auspi- 
cious change  ? 

That  there  have  been  exceptions — that  noble  rewards 
have  been  bestowed,  and  that  these  rewards  are  becoming 
more  promising,  may  be  granted,  without  affecting  a  gene- 
ral truth  which  I  wish  here  to  expound,  namely,  that  Lite- 
rature, under  those  forms  which  reach  the  highest  and 
holiest  ends,  cannot  look  for  its  rewards  in  the  vulgar  gain 
of  the  world,  but  must  be  led  on  by  motives  of  a  widely 
different  character.  I  would  expound  this  truth  not  in  the 
spirit  of  merely  finding  fault  with  the  world,  and  patheti- 
cally and  indignantly  descanting  upon  the  martyrdom  of 
genius,  but  that  we  may  ascertain  the  true  mission  of  Lite- 
rature and  Art,  and  see  how  sacred  and  magnanimous  are 
their  duties. 

In  the  first  place,  it  cannot  be  denied  that,  as  a  matter  of 
history,  the  picture  we  have  drawn  does  apply  to  the  high- 
est order  of  genius,  and  to  those  most  masterly  works 
which  have  constituted  and  elevated  a  nation's  literature. 
Great  men  have  labored  without  reward,  and  without  the 
hope  of  reward,  unless  it  were  the  anticipated  judgment  of 
posterity. 

The  two  highest  forms  of  ^Esthetical  Literature  are,  the 
Epic  and  the  Drama :  and  the  loftiest  names  which  fig- 
ure in  these  are,  Homer,  Dante,  Tasso,  Milton,  and  Shak- 
speare.     We  may  take  these  as  our  illustrations. 

The  Epic  and  the  Drama  are  the  complements  of  his- 
tory. History  gives  only  bare  facts,  and  those  chiefly 
which  take  place  in  public  life.  But  the  human  mind 
does  not  rest  satisfied  with  the  bare  facts.  The  grand 
events  of  history — those  events  which  involve  the  rise  and 
fall  of  nations,  by  a  strong  moral  and  spiritual  instinct,  it 
connects  with  a  superintending  Providence,  and  dignifies 


56  PHILOMATHEAN    CELEBRATION. 

with  supernatural  interpositions.  All  nations  of  all  ages 
exhibit  this  instinct,  whether  in  the  forms  of  a  pure  and 
rational  religion,  or  of  a  wild  and  terrible  superstition. 

Now  Epic  poetry  aims  to  supply,  by  its  imaginary  crea- 
tions, this  deficiency  in  history.  History,  we  have  said, 
^ives  us  the  actions  of  men  only  as  facts.  Epic  poetry 
takes  up  the  same  actions,  and  after  embellishing  them 
with  an  imaginary  grandeur  and  heroism,  and  interweav- 
ing them  Avith  fictitious  incidents,  brings  into  the  scene 
Supernatural  Actors.  The  actions  must  in  themselves  be 
made  to  appear  so  lofty  and  heroic  as,  in  a  manner,  to  be 
worthy  of  divine  direction  and  co-operation  :  and  then  the 
appearance  of  the  divine  actors  both  gives  an  unspeakable 
dignity  and  sublimity  to  the  events,  and  explains  their 
mystery  by  placing  them  in  the  light  of  the  counsels  of 
heaven. 

Hence  the  supernatural  agency  of  the  Epic  is  called  The 
Machinery  J  since  all  the  developements  of  the  poem  turn 
upon  this  agency. 

Lord  Karnes  has  remarked  with  what  appears  to  me  a 
strange  infatuation  of  criticism,  that  "the  aim  or  end  of  an 
epic  poem  can  never  be  obtained  in  any  perfection,  where 
machinery  is  introduced."  Without  attempting  to  refute 
the  particular  reason  he  assigns  for  this  judgment,  which 
indeed  might  easily  be  done,  it  is  sufficient  to  reply,  that 
the  Epic  admits  of  no  just  philosophical  explication  except 
on  the  ground  of  the  machinery ;  and  that,  in  fact,  to  re- 
move the  machinery  would  be  to  destroy  every  Epic  poem 
in  existence.  Remove  the  supernatural  from  the  Iliad  and 
the  Paradise  Lost,  and  what  would  be  left  ?  No !  the 
supernatural  is  the  very  soul  of  the  Epic ;  and  answers  in 
respect  to  history,  an  irrrepressible  demand  of  the  human 
intelligence. 


ORATION.  57 

There  can  be  no  question  that  the  Epic  is  the  noblest 
fomi  of  poetry  ;  and  therefore  it  is  called  The  Epic — The 
Word — the  highest  form  of  human  thought  and  language 
— the  song  of  songs — the  poem  of  poems.  It  embraces 
some  great  action  in  the  history  of  man ;  it  introduces  the 
most  heroic  characters  ;  it  narrates  the  most  lofty  and  thril- 
ling events ;  it  employs  a  verse  of  the  noblest  melody  ;  it 
collects  around  its  language  all  the  splendor  of  imagery ; 
and  behind  this  magnificent  array,  it  places  the  counsels 
and  agencies  of  divinities. 

Nor  is  there  any  thing  improbable  or  unnatural  in  the 
Machinery,  if  it  only  conform  to  the  popular  or  generally 
received  religion  of  the  nation  from  whose  history  the  Epic 
springs.  If  the  Epic  Poet  supplies  the  divine  agencies  to 
the  events  of  history  according  to  the  mythological  or  reli- 
gious system  of  the  people  to  whom  he  belongs  and  for 
whom  he  writes,  he  does,  in  truth,  reach  the  moral  effect 
of  reality,  just  like  the  Dramatist  who  constructs  his  fictions 
on  the  basis  of  facts  and  the  known  principles  of  human 
nature.  The  Epic  Poet  cannot,  indeed,  give  the  actual  and 
precise  facts  of  divine  agency,  but  he  imagines  and  repre- 
sents the  actions  of  Divinities  so  like  what  the  national 
religion  affirms  must  have  happened,  that  by  the  national 
mind  and  heart  they  must  seem  to  be  the  higher  and  more 
momentous  part  of  the  history  itself  The  stories  of  the 
heroes  of  Homer  were  a  most  precious  part  of  the  national 
tradition,  and  devoutly  believed  by  the  people.  The  my- 
thological deities  of  Homer  were  the  deities  of  the  people  ; 
and  what  the  poet  sung  of  their  deeds  in  the  heavens,  in  the 
sea,  and  on  the  earth,  in  the  Grecian  and  Trojan  camps,  and 
amid  the  conflicts  of  the  armies,  appeared  to  them  so  pro- 
bable— such  a  natural  and  fit  exhibition  of  their  disposi- 
tions and  might,  that  the  religious  belief,  without  experi-. 


58  PHILOMATHEAN    CELEBRATION. 

encing  any  shock,  enlarged  itself  to  these  creations  of  a 
sublime  imagination. 

In  referring  to  the  Divina  Comedia,  I  do  not  mean  to 
affirm  that  it  is  an  Epic  poem.  It  is  a  unique  poem. 
There  never  was — there  never  can  be  another  like  it.  If  it 
be  taken  as  an  Epic,  then  we  must  call  it  an  Epic  of  indi- 
viduals, rather  than  of  nations  :  not  a  historical,  but  a  bio- 
graphical Epic  ;  and  an  Epic  in  which  the  lives  and 
characters  of  men,  who  figured  on  earth,  are  read  in  the 
presence  of  their  eternal  destinies.  It  is  altogether  a  crea- 
tion of  the  supernatural. 

To  Dante's  own  mind  it  was  a  reality.  He  writes  with 
the  seriousness,  the  dignity,  the  sincerity  and  earnestness 
of  a  man  who  sees  and  believes.  To  the  men  of  his  times, 
and  of  the  times  subsequent,  his  book  was  like  the  leaves 
of  the  judgment.  Here  was  the  Theology — the  strong  be- 
lief of  the  men  of  the  middle  ages. 

Tasso's  Jerusalem  Delivered,  is  an  Epic  of  the  crusades, 
and  represents  the  Christian  Mythology  of  the  middle  ages, 
as  truly  as  the  Iliad  represents  the  Greek  Mythology  of  the 
age  of  Homer.  These  poems  are  alike  the  supernatural 
complements  of  grand  heroic  histories. 

Indeed,  we  have  only  to  appeal  to  our  own  experience, 
in  order  to  verify  this  representation.  We,  too,  have 
a .  great  Epic,  whose  machinery  is  drawn  from  the 
strongholds  of  our  faith.  Judged  by  the  facts  and  doc- 
trines of  the  Bible,  the  Paradise  Lost  is  based  upon  the 
strongest  probabilities.  The  Bible  history  is  indeed  an 
Epic  history,  for  it  contains  the  supernatural  complement 
as  a  part  of  its  veritable,  facts.  This  elevates  it  above  all 
other  histories.  But  the  Bible  history  is  brief,  particularly 
that  part  which  relates  to  the  creation  and  fall  of  man. 
But  this  brief  history  is  powerfully  suggestive,  and  taken 


ORATION.  59 

in  connection  with  numerous  allusions  made  to  it  through- 
out Holy  Writ,  and  with  the  doctrines  of  moral  good  and 
evil,  becomes  the  basis  of  supernatural  conceptions,  which 
give  Milton's  poem  the  first  place  in  point  of  sublimity  and 
moral  interest.  Now  would  it  do  any  violence  to  our  reli- 
gious belief,  to  receive  this  poem  as  containing  a  statement 
of  facts  ?  Nay,  when  reading  it,  do  we  not  seem  to  be  engag- 
ed with  a  veritable  narrative,  as  well  as  with  the  sublimest 
and  sweetest  poetry  ?  And  still  more,  is  not  our  religious 
faith,  with  respect  to  the  sinning  angels  and  their  malignant 
agencies,  with  respect  to  the  first  man,  the  particulars  oY 
his  fall,  and  the  heavenly  grace  vouchsafed  to  him,  influ- 
enced and  substantially  shaped  by  the  terrible,  the  sublime, 
the  lovely  creations  of  Milton  ?  The  angelic  life  in  heaven 
seems  to  us  like  a  real  life.  The  rebellious  angels, 
and  their  dwelling  within  the  fiery  cope  and  those 
burning  walls  of  adamant,  seem  to  us  like  the  fiends 
and  the  hell  of  our  belief  That  delicious  Paradise,  with 
its  stately  trees,  its  chrystal  streams,  its  bowers  of  love,  its 
genial  clime,  its  golden  fruits,  its  ever  blooming  flowers,  its 
innocent  creatures  of  strength,  beauty  and  melody,  and  its 
forms  of  manhood,  and  of  ideal  feminine  loveliness  and 
grace,  its  circling  hours  of  joy,  its  life  of  perfect  love  and 
peace,  and  its  heavenly  visitations,  seems  to  us  like  the 
true  form  of  that  blissful  dawn  of  pure  and  untainted  life, 
of  which  the  Sacred  writings  give  us  only  a  brief  sketch. 
And  even  the  counsels  of  the  Father  and  the  Son  seem 
not  unworthy  of  the  most  majestic  doctrines  of  our  The- 
ology. 

Milton  himself,  with  a  noble  enthusiasm — which  w^ 
may  pardon  in  him,  as  well  as  in  Dante- — and  with  somo^ 
thing  like  the  consciousness  of  one  of  the  ancient  proph- 
ets, invoked  that 


60  PHILOMATHEAN    CELEBRATION. 

"  Spirit  that  dost  prefer 
Before  all  temples,  the  upright  heart  and  pure :" 

and  while  we  read,  we  insensibly  yield  to  the  claim  of 
inspiration,  and  feel  awe  struck,  as  if  listening  to  a  divine 
word. 

The  miserable  attempt  of  Voltaire  to  construct  an  Epic 
out  of  modern  history,  by  means  of  the  ancient  Greek  My- 
thology, was  consistent  with  a  genius  which  could  artifi- 
cially combine,  but  which,  having  no  sense  of  the  divine, 
was  not  equal  to  the  truth  and  dignity  of  a  genuine  Epic. 

Homer,  Dante,  Tasso,  Milton,  wrote  from  knowledge  and 
from  faith.  Theirs  was  a  true  word,  and  a  true  work  of 
art.  Art  may  be  fiction,  but  it  has  no  falsehood  and  incon- 
gruity. Art  is  truth  under  the  splendid  forms  of  the  ima- 
gination. Art  is  nature  idealized  by  the  imagination 
striving  after  the  perfect.  Every  Epic  Poem,  therefore, 
constructed  upon  just  principles,  sustains  and  gives  effect 
to  the  facts  of  history. 

We  have  said  that  the  Epic  and  the  Drama  are  the 
complements  of  history.  The  Epic  is  the  supernatural 
complement.  The  Drama  is  the  complement  of  pri- 
vate individual  life.  History  gives  us  the  actions  of 
men  on  the  theatre  of  public  life.  We  do  not  see  its  great 
actors  in  the  relations  of  domestic,  familiar,  and  ordinary 
life.  We  cannot  be  present  when  their  meditations  are 
expressed  in  soliloquies,  nor  witness  those  secret  intrigues 
which  contain  the  springs  of  public  events.  History  gives 
us  only  the  public  man.  The  Epic  supplies  the  divine  agen- 
cies which  lead  on  and  govern  the  great  actions  of  the  Hero. 
Now  we  are  most  curious  to  learn  the  familiar  every  day 
life  of  the  individual  who  has  dazzled  our  imagination  in 
the  public  events  of  history.  We  wish  to  learn  whether 
he  possesses  the  ordinary  sympathies  of  the  race ;  whether 


ORATION.  61 

he  can  descend  to  common  affairs  ;  we  desire  to  read  his 
secret  motives,  and  to  hear  him  counsel  confidentially 
with  his  intimates.  Nay,  we  would  press  into  his  religious 
beliefs  and  his  superstitions  ;  we  would  know  even  the 
dreams  which  unveil  his  character ;  and  if  he  converse 
with  demons,  or  good  angels,  or  read  the  stars  of  destiny, 
we  would  be  present  at  these  awful  ministries  and  prophe- 
cies. It  is  natural  for  us  to  look  upon  the  hero  as  the  child 
of  destiny,  and  he  is  ever  prone  so  to  regard  himself 

What  history  cannot  do  with  its  bare  facts,  the  Drama 
accomplishes.  As  the  Epic  reveals  a  probable  supernatu- 
ral agency  relatively  to  public  life,  so  the  Drama  reveals 
the  probable  agencies,  both  natural  and  supernatural  rela- 
tively to  private  life.  The  Epic  gives  us  the  hero  in  alli- 
ance with  divinities  ;  the  Drama  gives  us  the  man^  with 
all  the  influences  and  circumstances  of  humanity  collected 
around  him. 

In  order  to  reach  its  end,  the  Drama  must  conform  to 
the  true  constitution  of  man — it  must  be  psychologically 
true.  This  is  the  first  requisite.  After  this,  it  must  con- 
form to  the  facts  of  history,  and  to  the  manners  and  cus- 
toms of  the  nation  and  age  in  which  the  action  is  laid. 
Those  details  of  the  private  and  secret  life  which  are  want- 
ing in  history,  the  great  masters  of  the  Drama  supply  by 
fictions,  which  we  believe  must  be  very  like  what  really 
happened,  because,  constructed  on  right  principles,  they  are 
intrinsically  probable. 

Take  as  examples  the  historical  plays  of  Shakspeare. 
Is  any  violence  done  here  to  nature  or  to  history  ?  Is  not 
the  familiar  life  of  the  old  English  Kings,  Lords,  Peasantry 
and  Soldiers  brought  to  view  as  a  reality  ?  Do  we  not  feel 
that  the  genius  of  Shakspeare  has  raised  from  the  dead 
what  history  had  buried  ?     The  Richard  III,  whom  history 


62  PHiLOMATHEAN    CELEfiRATION; 

offers  to  our  view  in  public  life,  must  have  been  the  marl 
whom  Shakspeare  describes  in  his  secret  and  familiar  life. 
That  portion  of  English  history  contained  in  the  plays  of 
Shakspeare,  is  better  understood,  and  produces  a  more  ge- 
neral moral  effect  than  any  other  portion,  where  his  genius 
has  not  illumined  the  page,  and  supplied  the  dramatic 
complement.  If  all  history  were  illustrated  by  dramas  like 
Shakspeare's,  would  not  history  be  more  real,  more  true-, 
and  infinitely  more  instructive  ? 

Now  these  two  forms  of  Literature  have  given  us  the 
greatest  works  of  human  genius  ;  and  the  five  names  we 
have  mentioned  are  the  greatest  the  world  has  produced  in 
these  relations. 

Homer,  in  the  Iliad,  became  the  father  of  Grecian  life, 
Grecian  literature  and  art,  Grecian  civilization — and  thus 
the  father  of  all  art,  literature,  and  civilization,  save  that 
which  belongs  peculiarly  to  Christianity.  For  centuries 
his  song  was  sung  by  the  Rhapsodists  throughout  the  Gre- 
cian states :  and  thus  was  there  diffused  and  ripened  the 
two  great  elements  of  Grecian  character — the  heroic  and 
the  beautiful.  The  Greek  drama,  the  Greek  plastic  arts, 
the  battles  of  Marathon,  Platea,  and  Salamis,  were  all  in- 
spired by  that  one  great  work;  It  was  a  great  gift  to  his 
country,  and  to  all  future  ages. 

Dante  and  Tasso  spoke  a  word  plastic  and  powerful  in 
their  times,  like  the  Iliad  to  the  ancient  world.  It  was  the 
birth  of  a  glorious  language — the  opening  of  a  new  foun- 
tain of  literature  and  art. 

Milton  takes  the  loftiest  stand  of  all  in  this  form  of  lite- 
rature.    Homer  was  of  the  Grecian  life.     Dante  and  Tasso 
of  the  life  of  the  middle  ages.     Milton's  is  the  Epic  of  uni- 
versal   humanity,   enlightened,    redeemed,    purified    and 
adorned  by  the  sun  of  Christianity.    He  has  sung  the  life 


ORATION.  63 

of  man  from  the  creation  to  the  jddgment  day.  He  has 
sung  the  counsels  of  heaven,  the  mysteries  of  providence 
and  of  grace.  The  highest  reason,  the  highest  faith,  the 
most  awful  truth,  and  the  most  ravishing  beauty  are  all 
combined  in  his  wonderful  poem.  He  has  started  thoughts 
which  are  like  sunbeams  upon  the  earth,  and  then,  reflect- 
ed upwards,  wander  through  eternity. 

In  the  other  form  of  literature,  Shakspeare  has  surpassed, 
and  must  forever  surpass  all  others.  He  is  the  great  ex- 
pounder of  human  nature :  he  has  traced  human  life 
to  its  fountains ;  he  has  analyzed  human  character 
into  its  constitutive  elements.  In  him  the  severest 
truths  are  presented  under  the  most  perfect  forms  of  art : 
and  poetry  and  action,  no  longer  the  amusement  of  vacant 
hours,  become  the  august  teachers  of  that  most  elevated 
science,  whose  title  only  was  inscribed  on  the  temple  at 
Delphi.  Homer  was  the  founder  of  the  Epic.  Shakspeare 
may  almost  be  called  the  founder  of  the  Drama,  for  he  first 
developed  its  true  idea. 

Now  these  five  master  spirits  of  humanity,  producing  in 
the  two  loftiest  spheres  of  literature  those  master  v\rorks, 
the  destruction  of  which  would  be  a  greater  calamity  to  the 
race,  than  the  destruction  of  as  many  kingdoms — works 
which  are  destined  to  survive  all  the  changes  of  time,  and 
to  remain  the  everlasting  landmarks  of  thought — for  what 
did  they  labor  ?  And  what  was  their  portion  in  the  lot  of 
man? 

Of  the  first,  the  history  is  doubtful :  but  this  very  doubt- 
fulness proves  that  neither  riches  nor  honors  were  his.  A 
wandering  bard  he  surely  was ;  and  perhaps,  as  his  name 
may  indicate,  blind.  A  blind  poet  constructing  his  lofty 
verse,  and  singing  of  the  sublime,  the  heroic,  and  the  beau- 
tiful, under  the  piercing  experience  of  human  suffering,. 


64  PHILOMATHEAN    CELEBRATION. 

His  mind  dwelt  on  Ida  and  Olympus  amid  the  haunts  and 
the  thrones  of  the  gods  ;  but  he  was  a  poor  blind  wanderer 
upon  the  earth.  Poets,  artists,  learned  men,  nations,  hook- 
sellers^  have  lived  upon  his  thoughts.  The  world  has  gi- 
ven boundless  homage  to  the  form  of  greatness  dimly  seen 
in  the  remote  antiquity ;  but  while  that  form  moved  among 
men,  we  hear  of  no  munificent  patrons,  of  no  places  of 
power  and  splendor  awarded  him :  he  drove  no  profitable 
trade  with  enterprising  publishers :  he  threw  his  bread 
upon  the  waters,  and  his  memory  alone  hath  found  it  after 
many  days. 

Dante  was  an  exile — a  persecuted,  sorrow-stricken  man. 
*'  It  came  to  be  evident  to  him,"  says  Carlyle,  "  that  he  had 
no  longer  any  resting  place  or  hope  of  benefit  in  this  earth. 
The  earthly  world  had  cast  him  forth  to  wander ;  no  living 
heart  to  love  him  now ;  for  his  sore  miseries  there  was  no  so- 
lace here.     The  deeper  naturally  would  the  eternal  world 
impress  itself  on  him  ;  that  awful  reality  over  which,  after 
all,  this  time-world,  with  its  Florences  and  banishments, 
only  flutters  as  an  unreal  shadow.     Florence  thou  shalt 
never  see :  but  Hell,  Purgatory  and  Heaven,  thou  shalt  sure- 
ly see.     What  is  Florence,  Can  della  Scala,  and  the  world 
and  life  altogether  ?     Eternity :  thither  of  a  truth,  not  else- 
whither, art  thou  and  all  things  bound  !     The  great  soul 
of  Dante,  homeless  on  earth,  made  its  home  more  and  more 
in  that  awful  other  world.     Naturally  his  thoughts  brooded 
on  that,  as  the  one  fact  important  for  him.     ***** 
Dante's  heart  long  filled  with  this — brooding  over  it  in 
speechless  thought  and  awe,  bursts  forth  at  length  into 
"  mystic,  unfathomable  song,"  and  his  divine  comedy,  the 
most  remarkable  of  all  modern  books,  is  the  result." 

Never  did  human  genius  produce  a  more  unearthly  book. 
It  was  written  under  the  inspiration  of  no  earthly  motive 


ORATION.  65 

whatever.  It  was  written,  you  may  say,  from  a  bm'sting 
heart — it  was  a  wail  of  despair  :  No,  it  was  written  by  a 
man  who,  in  his  inward  greatness  and  strength,  had  tri- 
umphed over  the  agony  and  despair  of  earth  ;  and  then, 
anticipating  eternity,  walked  through  the  circles  of  Hell, 
toiled  up  the  mount  of  Purgatory,  and  at  length  reposed  in 
the  beatific  visions  of  Paradise.  It  was  wrought  out  of  the 
depths  of  his  soul  as  an  experience  and  a  hope.  Like  eve- 
ry true  work  of  genius,  it  was  an  irrepressible  thought  that 
would  be  spoken. 

The  reward  of  Tassowas  neglect  and  poverty,  and  seven 
years  imprisonment  under  a  charge  of  madness,  because 
he  hortored  with  noble,  faithful  love,  a  woman  of  higher 
rank  than  his  own.  Now,  her  only  immortality  is  that  he 
loved  her  :  the  only  immortality  of  his  enemies,  that  they 
were  his  enemies. 

"  Long  years !  it  tries  the  thrilling  frame  to  bear, 

And  eagle  spirit  of  a  child  of  song — 

Long  years  of  outrage,  calumny  and  wrong  ; 

Imputed  madness,  prisoned  solitude, 

And  the  mind's  canker  in  its  savage  mood. 

Where  the  impatient  thirst  of  light  and  air 

Parches  the  heart." 

There  is  no  sadder  history  in  the  history  of  genius. 

John  Milton  was  not  a  victim  of  petty  Guelph  and  Ghib- 
beline  factions,  nor  of  narrow,  aristocratic  jealousy.  He 
was  a  martyr  of  great  principles  for  which  he  had  battled 
from  prime  manhood  to  old  age.  Old,  poor,  and  blind,  he 
was  suffered  to  emerge  from  concealment,  and  to  occupy 
an  obscure  corner  of  London.  But  his  mind  and  character 
were  unchanged.  His  whole  being  was  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful and  perfect  proportions.  Like  a  Grecian  temple, 
nothing  unequal,  nothing  out  of  place,  nothing  to  mar  the 
grand  effect.    His  character  might  be  drawn  as  a  general 


66  PHILOMATHEAN  CELEBRATION. 

scholar,  a  metaphysician,  a  divine,  a  pohtician,  a  poet,  or 
simply  as  a  christian  man,  and  it  would  appear  resplendent 
in  all.     And  were  we  to  draw  his  character  in  all  these 
respects,  in  the  horn-  of  his  highest  prosperity  ;  and  then 
again,  when  he  was  old  and  blind,  poor  and  neglected ; 
instead  of  finding  aught  in  the  second  portrait  that  would 
throw  shame  upon  the  beauty  and  majesty  of  the  first,  we 
should  find  it  beaming  with  the  same  intellect,  poetry  and 
purity,  only  heightened  by  expressions  of  resignation  and 
fortitude,  and  of  a  mind  more  heavenly,  as  engaged  now  in 
meditating  that  immortal  song  which  crowned  his  labors. 
It  was  amid  this  wreck  of  his  fortunes,  without  patrons 
without  any  hope  on  earth,  but  the  hope  of  leaving  a  bles- 
sing behind  him,  that  he  dictated  the  Paradise  Lost : — the 
Paradise  Lost — a  legacy  to  his  country  and  to  mankind — 
a  legacy  whose  value  cannot  be  expressed  by  the  wealth 
of  kingdoms  ;  and  yet  it  brought  him  few  readers  and  only 
fifteen  pounds  !     But  John  Milton  was  not  disappointed 
nor  cast  down.     He  wrote  not  as  the  hireling  of  booksel- 
lers ;  he  wrote  not  as  the  flatterer  of  patrons ;  he  wrote  not 
as  the  pander  to  a  perverted  public  taste.     He  wrote  from 
an  "  inward  prompting  which,"  says  he,  "  grew  daily  upon 
me,  that  by  labour  and  intense  study,  (which  I  take  to  be 
my  portion  in  this  life,)  joined  with  the  strong  propensity 
of  nature,  I  might  perhaps  leave  something  so  written,  to 
after  times,  as  they  should  not  wiUingly  let  die.     These 
thoughts  at  once  possessed  me ;  and  these  other,  that  if  I 
were  certain  to  write  as  men  buy  leases,  for  three  lives  and 
downwards,  there  ought   no   regard    to   be    sooner   had, 
than  to  God's  glory  by  the  honor  and  instruction  of  my 
country." 

The  strong  propensity  of  the  poetical  nature  contemplat- 
ing ideal  greatness,  beauty,  and  perfection — the  spirit  of 


ORATION. 


6? 


the  artist,  and  the  great  call  of  duty  to  employ  the,  powers 
which  God  had  given  him  in  a  work  which,  however  dealt 
with  in  his  own  day,  should  run  parallel  with  the  race  of 
time,  and  as  a  word  of  truth,  beauty,  and  power,  make  its 
way,  and  work  in  the  heart  of  all  coming  generations  ; — 
these  led  him  to  form  the  great  conception  years  before  the 
hour  of  execution  arrived.  And  as  the  work  was  great,  so 
the  preparation  was  great  likewise  : — "  a  work  not  to  be 
raised  from  the  heat  of  youth,  or  the  vapours  of  wine,  like 
that  which  flows  at  waste  from  the  pen  of  some  vulgar 
amourist,  or  the  trencher  fury  of  a  rhyming  parasite ;  nor 
to  be  obtained  by  the  invocation  of  dame  memory  and  her 
syren  daughters,  but  by  devout  prayer  to  that  eternal  spi- 
rit, who  can  enrich  with  all  utterance  and  knowledge,  and 
sends  out  his  seraphim,  with  the  hallowed  fire  of  his  altar, 
to  touch  and  purify  the  lips  of  whom  he  pleases  :  to  this 
must  be  added  industrious  and  select  reading,  steady  obser- 
vation, insight  into  all  seemly  and  generous  arts  and 
affairs." 

He  had  looked  for  "  a  calm  and  pleasing  solitariness,  fed 
with  cheerful  and  confident  thoughts,"  for  the  working  out 
of  his  lofty  plan.  But  the  only  solitariness  which  he 
found  was  that  of  old  age,  blindness,  and  the  alienation  of 
the  world.  And  yet  his  majestic,  unsubdued  spirit  accom- 
plished the  task  with  the  ease,  freshness,  and  soaring  ima- 
gination of  halcyon  days.  The  misfortunes  of  life  could 
not  cheat  him  out  of  the  v/ork  of  life.  At  a  time  and  under 
circumstances  when  others  would  have  lain  down  to  die, 
he  rose  with  the  "  lark  that,  singing,  up  to  heaven's  gate 
ascends,"  and  girded  him  to  his  labor.  The  past,  to  him, 
was  a  dream  of  glorious  hopes,  and  manly  exertions  ;  the 
present,  a  weary  load  of  sorrow ;  but  in  the  future,  lay  his 
immortal  Epic  as  a  crown  of  glory^ 


68  PHILOMATHEAN  CELEBRATION. 

Shak^peare's  life  was  not  one  of  deep,  consuming  sorrow, 
like  Dante's  ;  nor  one  of  high,  stern  conflicts  for  great  prin- 
ciples in  public  places,  like  Milton's.  And  yet,  it  was  the 
life  of  one  combatting  with  fortune,  unquestionably,  imder 
many  private  sorrows  and  cares,  until  he  had  gained  for 
himself  a  competency,  and  he  went  back  to  the  banks  of 
the  Avon  to  rest  himself  and  to  die. 

He  lived  an  obscure  life — we  know  but  little  about  him 
— and  this  alone  tells  of  obscurity.  His  highest  elevation 
was  to  be  manager  of  a  theatre.  It  is  true  he  had  some 
favor  from  the  great.  Southampton  was  his  friend,  and 
gave  him  a  thousand  pounds,  it  is  said.  Queen  Elizabeth 
conversed  with  him,  expressed  her  pleasure  at  his  per- 
formances, and  being  delighted  with  the  character  of  Fal- 
staif,  made  a  suggestion  which  led  to  the  composition  of  the 
Merry  Wives  of  Windsor.  King  James  issued  his  patent 
to  the  company  of  the  Globe  Theatre.  And  this  was  all. 
The  Q,ueen  was  repaid  a  thousand  fold  by  '•'  the  most  en- 
chanting compliment  ever  paid  by  genius  to  royal  vanity," 
in  his  Midsummer's  Night  Dream. 

But  it  comes  to  this — the  greatest  intellect,  the  greatest 
poet  of  England  and  of  humanity,  was  approved  as  a  play 
writer,  and  a  play  manager,  and  received  such  patronage  as 
enabled  him  to  retire  on  two  hundred  pounds  a  year ! 

What  led  to  these  stupendous  dramas  ?  Was  it  his  ne- 
cessities— this  passing  notice  of  the  great — the  prospect  of 
this  competency  ?  Here  was  the  occasion — you  must 
seek  for  the  cause  elsewhere.  There  is  a  heaven- wide  dif- 
ference between  an  occasion  and  a  cause.  Many  men 
have  had  like  occasions  with  Shakspeare — nay,  more,  stir- 
ring occasions,  and  have  done  nothing.  The  cause  was  in 
the  mighty  genius  of  the  man.     He  had  occasion  to  write 


ORATION.  69 

* 

plays — he  had  to  earn  his  bread.     But  genius  does  not  Hve 
upon  bread  :  it  has  its  o^rn  mighty  inspiration  in  itself. 

As  the  developement  of  the  reason  from  its  profoundest 
depths,  has  its  primary  conditional  or  occasional  starting 
point,  in  relation  to  time,  in  some  movement  of  the  sense — - 
a  sensation  of  touch,  or  color,  or  sound,  or  perhaps,  the 
mere  inspiration  of  a  breath  of  air  ;  so  with  genius,  it  may 
be  some  trivial  circmnstance — a  word — a  jest — a  look — 
some  shock  of  pride — some  touch  of  human  suffering — 
an  indignity  and  petty  persecution  from  some  Sir  Tho- 
mas Lucy,  which  leads  to  the  first  determination,  which 
occasions  the  first  movement  of  the  mighty  thought :  but 
thenceforward,  it  moves  by  its  own  inward  strength,  and 
within  the  sphere  of  its  own  clear  and  glorious  perceptions. 
The  occasion  which  awakens  it,  is  of  small  account ;  if  it 
did  not  fijid  one  occasion,  it  would  find  some  other : — soon- 
er or  later  it  must  awaken,  and  know  itself,  and  do  its 
work. 

In  a  world  where  the  allotments^  of  fortune  are  so  mie- 
qual,  it  is  not  surprising  that  a  sense  of  want  should  so 
often  form  the  occasion  for  the  development  of  genius. 
Want  knocks  at  the  storehouse  where  great  thoughts  and 
energies  are  yet  slumbering :  the  master  within  awakes,  and 
strives  to  relieve  the  humble,  urgent  petitioner ; — the  doors 
fly  open,  and  troops  of  angels  issuing  forth,  scatter  the 
earth  with  flowers,  open  chrystal  fountains  in  the  deserts, 
and  fill  the  cope  of  heaven  with  melody.  Want  may  be 
relieved,  or  may  be  forgotten,  in  this  world  of  beauty  where 
genius  is  now  at  work. 

One  of  the   most  remarkable   characteristics  of  Shak- 

speare  is  his  indifference  to  every  thing  but  the  exertion  of 

his  genius.     He  met  the  demands  of  want  indeed — but  he 

met  them  moderately  and   even  humbly.     Nor  does  he 

10 


70  PHILOMATHEAN    CELEBRATION. 

manifest  any  ambition  of  fame — ^he  seems  almost  uncon- 
scious of  his  own  greatness.  He  moved  amid  his 
own  matchless  creations,  satisfied  with  his  own  silent 
delight,  and  not  caring  what  the  world  would  say  of 
him,  nor  dreaming  that  he  was  to  fill  all  future  ages  with 
his  name.  He  came  into  the  world,  "  the  free  gift  of  na- 
ture ;  given  altogether  silently — received  altogether  silently 
as  if  a  thing  of  little  account  ;"*  and  silently  he  went  out 
of  the  v^rorld.  The  generation  in  Avhich  he  lived  did  not 
collect  the  materials  of  his  biography,  and  he  left  nothing 
behind  him  written  of  himself  He  lived  in  his  dramas 
while  he  lived,  of  no  more  account  than  the  world  pleased 
to  make  of  them.  But  now  he  will  live  in  his  dramas 
while  the  world  lives. 

We  have  now  considered  the  two  highest  forms  of  Lite- 
rature, and  the  five  great  names  which  figure  here.  Ho- 
mer, of  the  world  of  ancient  classic  beauty.  Dante  and 
Tasso,t  of  the  middle  ages.  Milton  and  Shakspeare  of  the 
modern  world.  We  have  nothing  greater  or  more  perfect 
in  Literature  to  speak  of.  And  here  these  men  with  their 
works  are  before  us.  We  have  only  been  stating  facts. 
Their  lot  was  not  the  lot  of  power,  wealth,  or  pleasure. 
The  motives  which  led  to  the  stupendous  creations  which 
form  the  glory  of  mankind,  and  which,  if  they  were  taken 
away,  would  leave  the  world  irreparably  poor — were  not 
drawn  from  the  ordinary  sources  which  inspire  human  ac- 
tivity. It  were  easy  to  add  to  these  names  from  the  his- 
tory of  the  great  and  good  among  mankind.  And  the  con- 
clusion at  which  we  should  inevitably  arrive,  would  be, 
that  those  noble  and  efficient  labors  which  have  led  on  all 

*  Carlyle. 

+  Tasso  himself,  indeed,  did  not  live  in  the  middle  ages,  but  his  mind 
was  there ;  his  great  Epic  is  the  echo  of  the  middle  ages. 


ORATION.  71 

improvements,  and  made  the  world  what  it  is  in  science, 
literature,  art,  and  religion,  have  had  their  origin  in  lofty 
views  of  truth,  beauty,  benevolence,  and  duty. 

If  we  now  proceed  from  the  facts,  to  consider  the  true 
principle  of  activity  and  productiveness  in  Literature  and 
the  arts,  we  shall  find  that  nothing  less  than  motives  drawn 
from  these  sources,  can  afford  a  sufficient,  inspiration  for 
any  truly  great  work.  The  noblest  natures  have  drawn 
their  motives  from  all  these  sources  combined ;  others,  from 
only  a  part ;  but,  altogether,  or,  in  part,  they  must  enter 
into  the  production  of  every  great  work. 

In  the  first  place,  he  who  undertakes  any  great  work, 
whether  in  philosophy,  science,  art,  or  religion,  does  often, 
by  that  very  undertaking,  make  an  advance  beyond  the 
spirit  of  his  age,  and  leave  its  sympathies  behind  him. 

It  is  common  in  our  day,  with  those  who  make  wide 
generalizations  in  philosophical  history,  to  represent  the 
great  man  as  the  exponent  of  the  spirit  of  his  age.  The 
truth  of  this  representation  will  depend,  so  far  as  it  can  be 
true,  upon  what  we  mean  by  the  spirit  of  the  age,  and 
the  character  we  assign  to  it.  If  we  mean  by  the  spirit  of 
the  age,  the  opinions  and  proclivities  of  the  masses  of  the 
people,  then,  if  these  be  the  result  of  high  principles  of 
truth  and  liberty  permeating  the  masses,  he,  of  those  who 
have  gone  before  us,  was  the  great  man,  who,  rising  above 
the  prejudices,  ignorance,  and  bigotry  of  a  previous  age, 
disseminated  these  principles,  and  enthroned  them  in  the 
popular  mind.  And  he  is  now  the  great  man,  who,  col- 
lecting the  prevalent  opinions  and  tendencies,  springing 
from  so  high  a  source,  into  one  focus  of  action,  works  out, 
by  their  means,  some  grand  reform  in  civil,  social,  and  reli- 
gious life. 


72  PHILOMATHEAN    CELEBRATIOI??. 

But  if  the  movement  of  the  popular  mind  be  in  the  di- 
rection of  error  and  fanaticism,  then  the  leader  and  expo- 
nent of  the  popular  will  is  but  a  rampant  demagogue,  or  a 
furious  bigot.  He  may  be  an  orator  in  the  use  of  the 
isacred  names  of  patriotism  and  religion :  he  may  be  an 
inflammatory  and  acute  writer  in  newspapers  and  periodi- 
cals :  he  may  be  deeply  read  in  human  nature  under  its 
worst,  weakest  and  darkest  attributes,  so  that,  as  a  pander 
to  the  appetites  and  perverted  judgments  of  men,  he  may 
exercise  a  mighty  influence  over  multitudes,  and  ride  into 
power  upon  a  storm  of  evil  I  in  fine,  he  may  gain  his  endSj 
and  attain  to  what  the  world  calls  success  ;  but  great  he 
can  never  be,  if  truth  be  great,  if  virtue  be  great,  if  God  be 
great. 

But  do  we  mean  by  the  spirit  of  the  age,  those  doctrines 
and  opinions  which  have  obtained  among  the  thinking 
few,  who,  after  all,  give  enduring  character  to  an  age ; — 
then,  the  great  man  is  he  who,  reviewing  these  by  a  clear 
and  powerful  philosophical  criticism,  eliminates  error  from 
truth,  and  collects  results  after  which  the  thinking  minds 
have  in  diflerent  ways,  and,  it  may  be,  through  successive 
ages  been  struggling,  and  to  which  they  have  all  contribu- 
ted something  ; — have  contributed  even  by  their  mistakes 
and  errors  :  for  no  one  that  truly  thinks,  thinks  altogether 
in  vain.  Cicero  remarks  that  he  would  rather  err  with 
Plato,  than  find  truth  with  his  opponents ;  and  I  think 
with  good  reason,  for  the  errors  of  some  minds  are  more 
suggestive  than  the  truths  of  others.  And  so  he  who, 
reviewing  the  beliefs  of  his  age  in  the  master  minds, 
tracing  their  origin  and  their  progress,  and  describing  their 
present  development,  comes  at  last  to  a  logical  projection  of 
weighty  and  commanding  truths,  is  entitled  to  be  conside- 
red great,  as  the  faithful  exponent  of  the  spirit  of  his  age. 


ORATION.  73 

He  is  an  exponent  of  light,  power,  and  beneficence  ;  for,  he 
has  reduced  chaos  to  order,  and  distinguished  between 
wandering  comets,  and  the  worlds  of  productiveness  and 
beauty,  which  move  in  harmonious  orbits  around  the  all- 
binding  centre. 

But  it  must  be  in  the  grand  progress  of  thought,  that  the 
great  teachers  of  truth,  beauty,  and  goodness,  shall  come 
into  conflict  with  error,  perversion  and  malignity ;  and  that 
ere  the  battle  be  won,  many  of  the  noblest  perish  as  vic- 
tims. Socrates  must  drink  the  hemlock,  ere  Plato  can 
write  his  dialogues,  and  receive  universal  homage  at  the 
Olympic  games.  Gallileo  must  be  imprisoned  ere  Newton 
can  proclaim  the  true  system  of  the  universe.  Jerome  of 
Prague  and  John  Huss  must  die  at  the  stake,  ere  Luther 
can  lead  on  the  Reformation.  Hampden  and  Sidney  must 
fall  ere  Washington  can  triumph  in  the  battles  of  liberty. 
Nay,  Christianity  herself  could  be  introduced  only  by  the 
crucifixion  of  its  Divine  Author,  and  the  martyrdom  of  his 
Apostles.  Mankind  at  large,  in  many  ages,  have  been  like 
the  captives  whom  Plato  has  described,  in  the  cave  with 
their  backs  turned  to  the  light,  and  beholding  only  sha- 
dows. The  great  man  is  the  solitary  one  who  turns  from 
the  shadows,  escapes  from  captivity,  and  walks  out  to  be- 
hold the  sun  in  the  heavens  ;  but  who,  when  he  returns  to 
proclaim  his  glorious  discovery  to  the  captives  below,  is 
accounted  worthy  of  death,  for  the  very  reason  that  he 
contradicts  their  science,  exposes  their  shadowy  percep- 
tions, and  directs  them  to  the  world  of  light  and  reality 
above. 

The  man  who  aims  only  to  be  the  exponent  of  the  spirit 
of  his  age,  can  never  be  great,  for  he  is  destitute  of  inde- 
pendent and  original  thought.  He  is  the  mere  echo  of  the 
voice  of  the  predominant  multitude,  whether  in  philosophy, 


74  PHILOMATHEAN    CELEBRATION. 

politics,  or  religion.  Even  if  the  spirit  of  the  age  be  en- 
lightened and  benign,  he  is  not  great  if  he  becomes  its  ex- 
ponent merely  for  conspicuity  and  influence  :  for  now  he 
is  what  he  is,  not  from  conviction  and  principle,  but  only 
from  expediency.  He  is  only  a  weathercock  of  a  higher 
order,  self-consciously  trimming  his  plumage  to  the  favor- 
ing gales.  The  great  man  critically  examines  the  spirit  of 
the  age,  and  accepts  it  only  as  it  accords  with  the  princi- 
ples which  govern  him.  Where  it  is  wrong,  he  is  ready 
to  oppose  it.  He  will  take  up  his  cross  and  follow  truth 
through  evil  report.  He  will  stand  unmoved,  like  a  rock 
in  the  ocean,  when  the  angry  voices  of  the  multitude  are 
swelling  around  him.  He  will  bear  calmly  the  persecution 
of  powerful  sects  and  parties.  He  v/ill  consent  to  lie  down 
in  infamy,  and  bequeath  to  future  generations  the  work  of 
vindicating  his  name,  when  the  truths  for  which  he  has 
battled  shall  have  triumphed.  There  is  in  him  a  majestic 
composure  and  confidence.  He  lives  not  for  a  particular 
time,  but  for  all  times.  He  makes  his  secure  home  in  im- 
mortality. 

But  in  order  to  prove  the  elevated  motives  which  inspire 
the  pursuits  of  Literature  and  Art,  we  may  reason  not  only 
from  the  necessary  position  which  he  assumes  relatively  to 
the  multitude  who  aims  to  effe(*t  any  great  work ; — we 
may  reason,  also,  from  the  peculiar  nature  and  ends  of 
these  pursuits.  The  Philosopher,  the  Poet,  the  Artist,  not 
only  have  the  lot  of  greatness  upon  them,  in  emerging  from 
the  cavern  and  seeking  a  purer  light; — such  also  is  the 
work  which  they  have  to  do,  that  they  cannot  do  it,  unless 
they  turn  away  from  vain  time-shows  to  contemplate  an 
absolute  beauty,  goodness,  and  truth.  The  inspiring  forms 
of  Art  and  Literature  lie  in  an  ideal  world,  and  because  an 
ideal  world,  a  world  of  absolute  and   permanent  reality. 


ORATION.  75 

This,  to  many,  may  appear  a  contradiction,  since,  in  the 
popular  conception,  the  Ideal  is  ever  the  shadowy,  dreamy, 
and  unreal.  Shall  1  myself  he  called  a  dreamer — a  man 
in  pursuit  of  shadows,  if  I  affirm  that  the  Ideal  represents 
the  highest  form  of  reality  ?  Let  me  explain  myself  We 
will  begin  by  accepting  the  Platonic  definition  of  ideas 
psychologically  considered,  that  they  are  the  primordial 
seminal  potencies  in  the  Reason  of  all  Knowledge.  We 
will  next  take  up  ideas,  logically  considered,  as  primordial 
and  general  conceptions,  or  accepting  here  the  Aristotelian 
notion — the  categories  under  w^hich  all  our  particular 
knowledges  are  capable  of  being  reduced.  Some  of  the 
most  important  and  productive  of  these  ideas  are  the  ideas 
of  the  Perfect,  the  True,  the  Just,  the  Useful  and  the  Beau- 
tiful. Now,  by  the  idea-potencies  producing  the  idea- 
conceptions,  we  not  only  know  and  comprehend,  upon  the 
proper  sensuous  conditions,  that  w^hich  actually  exists,  but 
also  that  which  is  possible.  But,  under  the  possible,  we 
embrace  higher  forms  of  perfection,  truth,  justice,  utility 
and  beauty,  than  w^hat  the  actual  world  affords.  That  is, 
we  conceive  that  the  principles  existing  and  at  work  in 
nature  might  have  riper  and  more  glorious  developments  : 
nay,  that  in  other  worlds,  they  may  now  have  such  de- 
velopments. It  is  here  that  the  imagination  comes  in  as  a 
mediatory,  representative,  and  creative  power,  and  projects 
into  its  own  sphere  the  ideals  of  more  perfect  forms.  Now, 
it  is  the  effort  to  realize  in  the  outer  world  these  ideals 
which  give  birth  to  the  highest  productions  of  art.  Sculp- 
ture, Architecture,  the  Epic,  and  the  Drama,  are  embodi- 
ments of  the  ideal.  In  ideal  creations,  the  supernatural  is 
only  a  higher  form  of  the  natural.  What  then  is  the  ideal 
but  the  more  perfect  real,  not  indeed  the  actual^  but  the 
real — Truth,  Justice,  Goodness   and  Beauty,   ripened   to 


76  PHILOMATHEAN    CELEBRATION. 

their  highest  measures  7  The  actual  is  changeable  and 
passing  away  by  a  steady  progression.  The  ideal  is  that 
to  which  every  thing  is  tending.  Literature  and  the  arts, 
in  their  finest  productions,  anticipate,  prophecy,  represent 
the  end.  It  would  be  easy  to  show,  also,  how  this  ideali- 
sing process  leads  on  the  noblest  inventions,  under  the  con- 
ception of  a  more  perfect  utility : — how  industry  thus  pa- 
tentiated  and  directed,  has  changed  the  face  of  the  world 
• — how,  reaching  forward  to  higher  purposes,  it  will  change 
it  still  more,  until  every  wilderness  and  solitary  place  shall 
rejoice,  and  every  desert  bud  and  blossom  as  the  rose.  The 
world  is  yet  in  its  infancy,  and  ideals  of  more  perfect  social 
organization,  of  wide  spread  improvements,  cf  universal 
order  and  harmony,  of  universal  peace  and  brotherhood, 
are  even  now  inspiring  multitudes  under  the  dim  light  of 
crude  philosophies,  or  under  the  clear  radiance  of  a  divine 
philosophy,  basking  in  the  sunlight  of  Christianity. 

What  now  is  the  mission  of  the  man  of  Literature  and  Art? 
Is  it  not  to  study  the  permanent  and  absolute  real  in  the 
Ideal,  and  by  immortal  works  to  inspire  mankind  with  the 
sense  of  a  higher  nature,  and  a  higher  destiny — to  show 
how  wise  and  good  we  may  become — that  we  are  not 
mere  dust  and  earth,  but  partakers  of  the  Divine  nature  ? 
With  such  a  mission,  the  low  ends  of  temporary  popularity, 
of  worldly  gain,  of  fading  hours  of  pleasure,  do  not  com- 
port. The  true  philosopher,  the  true  artist,  the  true  poet 
produce  their  works  by  contemplating  the  absolute  and  the 
perfect.  They  could  not  produce  them  in  any  other  way. 
He  who  sets  out  to  compass  gain  or  political  influence, 
fixes  his  mind  upon  these  objects,  and  takes  his  measures 
accordingly.  It  is  in  living  for  these  objects,  that  he  be- 
comes what  he  aims  to  be.  By  the  same  necessity  of 
thought,  he  who  would  compass  great  works  of  truth  and 


ORATION.  77 

beauty,  must  become  absorbed  in  the  true  and  beautiful — 
he  must  live  in  a  higher  and  purer  world. 

And  this  higher  and  pmer  world,  viewed  in  relation  to 
poetry  and  the  arts  generally,  is  that  world  of  ideal  forms 
which  the  imagination  creates  from  the  idea-conceptions 
where  men  become  more  heroic  and  perfect,  and  nature 
more  richly  developed  and  beautiful — nay,  where  even 
evil  is  idealized  into  a  ranker  and  more  awful  growth,  and 
all  this  without  violating  the  principles  of  humanity  or  of 
nature :  and,  viewed  in  relation  to  philosophy,  is  that 
world  where  truth  reigns  absolute,  and  the  great  problems 
of  being  are  solved  in  the  light  of  those  eternal  ideas  which 
constitute  the  Intelligence  of  God  ! 

Let  the  world  deride  thee,  call  thee  a  dreamer,  account 
thee  a  fool  in  sacrificing  the  toys  of  wealth,  power,  and 
pleasure,  O  child  of  genius  and  of  truth  !  but  hold  thou  on 
thy  heavenward  way — live  in  thy  purer  and  more  beautiful 
world — be  inspired  by  the  objects  which  surround  thee,  by 
the  truths  which  beam  upon  thee,  and  do  thy  work  faith- 
fully and  manfully,  and  happy  in  thine  own  thoughts  and 
aims,  thou  wilt  strike  out  sparks  of  immortal  light  for  the 
good  of  men  and  the  honor  of  God. 

But  have  not  men  of  letters  and  artists  labored  for  bread 
like  other  men?  Nay,  have  not  some  of  their  greatest 
works  been  produced  under  the  pressure  of  the  common 
wants  of  humanity  ?  It  cannot  be  denied.  They  are  sub- 
ject to  all  the  conditions  of  an  earthly  existence.  But  it 
was  not  this  which  made  them  men  of  letters  and  artists. 
Had  this  been  their  end,  it  would  have  been  better  to  have 
been  mechanics  or  merchants — to  have  taken  up  any  form 
of  labor  or  business.  And  yet,  the  necessities  of  our  earthly 
lot  have  had  one  important  bearing  upon  the  works  of  gen- 
ius :  they  have  compelled  to  the  completion  of  tasks  which 

11 


78  PHILOMATHEAN  CELEBRATION. 

Otherwise  might  have  remained  in  restless  and  unsatisfied 
thought,  and  in  endless  preparation.  For  he  who  has  the 
brightest  ideals,  is  most  prone  to  be  dissatisfied  with  the  ma- 
terials in  which  he  strives  to  give  them  an  outward  expres- 
sion, as  well  as  with  his  own  skill.  The  chisel  and  the  mar- 
ble, the  colors  and  the  pencil,  the  words  of  human  language 
already  appropriated  to  ordinary  uses,  often  seem  imprac- 
ticable ;  while,  intense  meditation  upon  a  great  subject  re- 
veals such  richness  and  beauty,  that  the  hand  trembles  to 
attempt  it :  and  thus  a  mind  of  the  highest  powers  may  be 
led,  if  not  actually  to  distrust  itself,  at  least,  to  distrust  its 
present  fitness  and  preparation ;  and,  instead  of  proceeding 
to  the  execution,  may  only  involve  itself  in  deeper  study ; 
or,  if  making  a  beginning,  may  ever  be  remodelling,  repro- 
ducing, retouching,  in  an  endless  struggle  after  perfection. 

It  is  here  that  want  has  sometimes  made  its  appearance 
as  the  best  friend  of  the  man  of  genius,  and  as  a  benefac- 
tor of  mankind ;  and  in  the  voice  of  his  children,  it  may 
be,  crying  for  bread,  has  called  him  away  from  the  ideal 
contemplation — the  everlasting  dream  of  beauty,  to  finish 
his  work.  The  immortal  Allston,  under  no  such  rude 
compulsion  to  finish,  grew  old  before  his  great  picture  ;  and 
while  he  was  still  erasing  and  reproducing,  and  striving  to 
perfect  the  expression  of  his  ideal,  death  called  him  away 
to  higher  visions,  from  a  disappointed  world. 

Shall  we  then  leave  the  man  of  genius  to  the  dis- 
cipline and  stern  guardianship  of  want?  It  would 
be  an  unjust  and  cruel  inference.  If  want  has  some- 
times determined  him  to  action,  it  has  also  often  fro- 
zen up  the  sources  of  thought.  If  it  has  sometimes 
called  him  from  his  meditations  to  finish  some  glorious 
work ;  it  has  also  often  stood  beside  him  a  stern  spectre 
accompanied  by  despair  and  death.    Perhaps  the  truth  on 


4  ORATION.  79 

this  subject  was  never  more  forcibly  and  affectingly  ex- 
pressed than  by  Coleridge  in  one  of  his  letters  : — "  Compo- 
sition," says  he,  "is  no  voluntary  business.  The  very 
necessity  of  doing  it  robs  me  of  the  power  of  doing  it. 
Had  I  been  possessed  of  a  tolerable  competency,  I  should 
have  been  a  voluminious  writer.  But  I  cannot,  as  is  feign- 
ed of  the  nightingale,  sing  with  my  breast  against  a 
thorn." 

The  same  thought  he  re-echoes  in  those  touching  lines 
composed  in  February,  1827. 

"  All  nature  is  at  work.     Stags  leave  their  lair — 
The  bees  are  stirring — birds'  are  on  the  wing — 
And  winter,  slumbering  in  the  open  air, 
Wears  on  his  smiling  face  a  dream  of  spring ! 
And  I  the  while,  the  sole  unbusy  thing, 
Nor  honey  make,  nor  pair,  nor  build,  nor  sing. 
Yet  w^ell  I  ken  the  banks  where  amaranths  blow, 
Have  traced  the  fount  whence  streams  of  nectar  flow. 
Bloom,  O  ye  amaranths  !  bloom  for  whom  ye  may, 
For  me  ye  bloom  not !     Glide  rich  streams  away  ! 
With  lips  unbrightened,  wreathless  brow  I  stroll : 
And  would  ye  learn  the  spells  that  drowse  my  soul  7 
Work  without  hope  draws  nectar  in  a  sieve. 
And  hope  without  an  object  cannot  live." 

It  was  not  for  wealth,  or  political  station  that  Coleridge 
sighed — it  was  merely  for  a  "tolerable  competency;" — that 
he  might  possess  his  cottage  at  Clevedon  on  the  Severn, 
"  o'ergrown  with  Jasmine,  and  the  broad  leaved  myrtle," 
undisturbed  by  the  daily  anxiety,  what  shall  I  eat,  what 
shall  I  drink,  wherewithal  shall  I  be  clothed  ;  and  that  he 
might  be  permitted  to  yield  himself  quietly  to  the  legiti- 
mate ideal  inspirations  of  genius,  and  labor  in  poetry  and 
philosophy  for  England  and  mankind.  His  intimate 
friends  Wordsworth  and  Southey  realized  that  "  tolerable 
competency,"  which  is  the  best  condition  for  a  man  of  let- 


80  PHILOMATHEAN   CELEBRATION.  » 

ters,  and  nobly  did  they  use  it.  Like  two  streams  from 
the  same  mountain  springs,  have  they  made  their  quiet, 
majestic,  fructifying  way ;  and  on  their  banks  are  verdant 
meadows,  smiling  hamlets,  and  palaces  of  beauty. 

It  is  well,  where  the  man  of  letters  can  at  the  same  time 
yield  to  the  proper  inspirations  of  his  high  pursuits,  and 
gain  a  competency  by  his  literary  efforts  :  and  this  in  some 
departments  of  Literature,  such  as  history  and  fiction,  is 
sometimes  realized.  Where  this  is  not  the  case,  he  ought 
to  be  in  employments  genial  to  the  great  end  of  his  life^ 
by  which  he  may  be  enabled  to  secure  quietly  a  competent 
subsistencCj  and  to  follow  out  his  vein. 

It  is  ruinous  to  high  and  independent  authorship  to  wait 
upon  publishers.  The  publisher  is  a  tradesman,  and  books 
are  his  commodities.  He  must  therefore  suit  the  public 
taste — ^he  must  meet  the  demand  in  the  market. 

But  the  man  of  letters  cannot  write  for  accidental  tastes, 
and  a  fluctuating  market.  He  is  in  a  region  far  above  this 
—he  is  engaged  with  other  objects.  He  is  writing  for 
truth's  sake— he  is  writing  for  the  determined  judgment  of 
taste  which  belongs  to  the  great  and  ripened  minds  of  all 
generations — he  is  writing  for  immortality.  Great  works 
cannot  ordinarily,  be  produced  to  meet  the  demands  of  the 
trade.  I  think  all  will  grant  at  once,  that  the  staple  com^ 
modities  of  the  book  trade  are  not,  generally,  works  of  ori- 
ginal and  permanent  literature.  The  most  profitable  books 
are  school  books  and  novels.  The  former  are,  generally, 
the  works  of  industrious  compilers.  Some  of  them  are 
works  of  great  utility.  Many  are  mere  forms  of  specula- 
tion. There  are  some  novels  which  are  works  of  genius  of 
the  highest  order :  there  are  many  more  which  are  clever 
and  agreeable :  there  are  a  multitude  which  are  the  mere 
froth  of  literature  ;  but,  like  all  frothy  potations,  are  eagerly 


ORATION.  81 

« 

swallowed.  The  children  who  need  school  hooks,  and  the 
young,  inexperienced,  and  crudely  cultivated,  who  are 
attracted  by  ephemeral  novels,  form  a  vast  proportion  of 
readers.  Here  then  are  the  staple  commodities  of  the 
trade  ! 

We  have  already  mentioned  as  exceptions,  history,  and 
the  higher  order  of  fiction.  Prescott's  histories  do  honor  to 
Enghsh  literature ;  and  both,  on  account  of  the  strangely 
romantic  interest  of  their  subjects,  and  their  relation  to  our 
hemisphere,  independently  of  the  grace  of  their  composi- 
tion, must  ever  attach  themselves  to  the  popular  mind. 

The  Waverly  Novels  form  a  well  known  illustration  in 
the  other  department.  We  may  also  mention  those  great 
works  which,  scarcely  noticed  in  their  own  day,  or  enjoy- 
ing only  a  limited  appreciation,  have  at  length  triumphed, 
and  become  the  ornaments  and  dignified  possessions  of 
libraries  and  bookshelves,  if  not  books  of  ordinary  and 
general  perusal.  No  one,  now-a-days,  will  so  dishonor 
himself  as  not  to  own  a  Shakspeare  and  a  Milton. 

Where  a  great  author  has  become  a  favorite  with  the 
people,  and  of  course  with  the  trade,  the  stimulus  of  genius 
is  liable  to  be  supplanted  by  the  stimulus  of  gain  and  popu- 
larity. Works  are  now  produced  with  astonishing  rapidity 
— the  supply  must  meet  the  demand  ;  but,  alas  !  there  is 
a  corresponding  depreciation  in  their  character.  The  child 
of  genius  and  of  truth  is  now  no  longer  dwelling  in  his 
ideal  world,  adoring  the  divine  and  matchless  forms  before 
him,  and  speaking  to  the  common  world  a  word,  which, 
whether  men  will  hear  or  forbear,  is  nevertheless  a  word 
of  import  and  authority — "  a  winged  word,"  like  the  voice 
of  a  divine  messenger :  he  has  condescended  to  enter  the 
market,  pen,  ink  and  paper  in  hand,  and  to  cry  out,  A 
genius  offers  his  services  to  the  public  and  the  trade — he 


82  PHILOMATHEAN    CELEBRATION. 

will  write  poetry,  politics,  philosophy,  divinity,  novels,  or 
reviews,  where  there  is  money  to  be  had  and  influence  to 
be  gained. 

Walter  Scott  did  not,  indeed,  pander  his  fine  powers  in 
this  gross  way ;  but  the  Ballantynes  and  the  Constables, 
the  Baronetcy  and  Abbottsford,  are  associated  with  the 
decay  of  his  genius,  as  well  as  with  the  overthrow  of  his 
fortunes.  His  Waverly  was  written  spontaneously — from 
a  pure  love  of  the  subject — a  creation  of  his  mind  that 
could  not  be  avoided  :  and  yet  it  was  long  ere  he  made  up 
his  mind  to  publish  it.  What  a  diflerence  between  this 
work  of  unsoiled  genius,  and  works  which  were  afterwards 
thrown  off  with  such  rapidity,  to  meet  mere  pecuniary 
demands  !  Can  we  believe  that  Homer  could  have  written 
the  passion  of  Achilles,  and  the  wanderings  of  Ulysses ; 
Dante,  his  hill  of  Purgatory,  and  entrance  into  Paradise ; 
Tasso,  the  chivalry  of  Godfrey  and  Tancred  ;  Milton,  his 
delicious  Paradise ;  Shakspeare,  his  Juliet,  Portia,  and 
Ophelia — at  the  bidding  of  a  publisher,  and,  forsooth,  be- 
cause this  publisher  judged  that  the  public  made  a  demand 
for  such  creations  of  genius  ?  What  does  the  public  know  of 
the  work  of  genius  until  it  is  done  ?  Nay,  must  not  gene- 
rations sometimes  pass  away  before  it  is  known — a  space 
of  time  that  men  may  be  able  to  get  into  the  heart  of  the 
work,  or  may  ascend  into  the  clear  heavenly  light  where 
its  perfection  and  brightness  alone  can  be  seen  and  esti- 
mated ? 

We  judge,  therefore,  that  the  true  man  of  letters,  and  the 
true  artist,  have  a  spontaneous,  uncalculating  affection  for 
the  works  they  take  in  hand:  that  they  are  aiming  to 
bring  to  light  some  great  idea  or  conception  which  is  labo- 
ring within  them;  and  that  this  they  will  strive  to  do 
irrespective  of  any  present  rewards,  and  irrespective  of  the 


ORATION. 


83 


immediate  judgment  of  mankind:  that  with  them  it  is 
more  necessary  to  satisfy  themselves  immediately  than  to 
satisfy  others,  while  they  feel  assured  that  satisfying  right 
reason  now,  they  will  finally  satisfy  the  ripened  judgment 
of  ages. 

And  in  this  persuasion  they  are  abundantly  justified  : — 
for,  although  men  may  have  many  vain  imaginations,  and 
false  tastes  and  judgments  which  lead  them  astray,  yet  he 
whose  imagination  is  permeated  by  the  ideas  of  the  pure 
reason,  and  who  hath  right  tastes  and  judgments,  hath  an 
intuitive  persuasion  thereof  which  nothing  can  cause  to 
falter,  and  which  is  a  widely  different  thing  from  the  vain 
confidence  of  error.  Like  a  true,  conapared  with  a  false 
prophet,  he  may  not  be  able  to  prove  to  a  blinded  world  his 
paramount  title,  and  therefore  he  quietly  rests  until  his  day 
come,  when  the  things  spoken  shall  be  tested  by  infallible 
criteria. 

But  are  there  not  other  motives  which  may  consist- 
ently govern  these  men  of  letters  and  artists?  There 
are  two  other  motives.  That  which  we  have  named  is 
the  spontaneous  love  of  truth  and  beauty.  Of  the  other 
two,  one  relates  to  the  individual  himself  personally ; 
the  other  to  mankind.  The  personal  motive,  is  that 
of  developing  the  personal  self  into  those  forms  of 
goodness  and  greatness  for  which  God  created  man. 
Of  all  things  which  God  hath  created,  the  thinking 
and  immortal  spirit  imbreathed  into  man  is  the  noblest 
and  divinest,  and  most  like  God  himself  A  great  gift,  a 
great  capability,  a  great  responsibility,  a  germ  of  immortal 
thought  and  delight,  is  each  man  given  to  himself  The 
true  man  of  letters  and  of  art,  who  conceives  of  the  beauty 
of  the  world  through  the  ideals  which  reveal  its  principles, 
who  conceives  of  absolute  truth  and  goodness,  and  who 


84  PHILOMATHEAN    CELEBRATION. 

has  such  a  sense  of  the  divine  that  he  cannot  frame  his 
Epic  of  human  events  without  laying  the  machinery  of 
thought  and  action  in  the  invisible  world ; — must,  when 
he  turns  to  himself,  view  this  soul  within  him  which  thus 
conceives — is  thus  inspired  by  ideals,  and  projects  such 
philosophies,  sciences,  and  arts-^as  something  wonderful 
and  holy,  something  to  be  reverenced  and  cherished,  and 
led  out,  if  possible,  to  its  full   measures.     The  soul  by 
which  we  know  and  feel  so  much — who  can  tell  how 
much  it  may  know  and  feel?     We  are  at  the  beginning, 
but  where  is  the  end  of  its  development  ?     Can  we  con- 
ceive of  a  nobler  experiment  than  that  of  trying  its  utmost 
capacity — of  trying  how  wise  and  good  it  is  possible  to 
become?— and  this   to  be  forecasted  not  for  the  fleeting 
term  of  this  present  life,  but  for  immortality.     And  in  fore- 
casting this  for  immortality,  we  are  at  once  reminded  that 
the  seeds  of  the  future  are  sown  in  the  present ;  and  that 
the  growth  of  the  soul  forever  will  be  in  the  direction  that 
we  give  it  now.     But  to  whom  can  this  growth  of  the  soul 
be  an  object  of  such  interest  as  to  the  man  of  letters  and  of 
art,  who  from  this  soul  is  announcing  truth,  and  projecting 
forms  of  majesty  and  beauty.     Has  he  not  in  what  he  is 
doing,  a  foretaste  of  immortal  life  ?     He,  of  all   others, 
ought  to  find  his  highest  personal  good  in  the  cultivation 
of  these  high  spiritual  faculties — he  of  all  others  might 
be  expected  to  live  for  himself  in  the  way  of  making 
himself   a  man    such    as   God    has   fitted    him    to  be-  , 
come — a  man  after  the  divine  ideal  of  humanity.     And 
as   the   great  and  good   Milton   has  said,    "  The   end   of 
all  learning   is   to   repair  the   ruins   of  our  first  parents 
by  regaining  to    know    God    aright,    and    out    of   that 
knowledge  to  love  him,  to  imitate  him,  to  be  like  him, 
as  we  may  the  nearest  by  possessing  our  souls  of  true  vir- 


ORATIOX.  85 

tue,  which  heing  united  to  the  heavenly  grace  of  faith, 
makes*  up  the  highest  perfection ;" — so  Ave  may  add,  the 
man  of  letters  and  art  might  be  expected  to  he  the  most 
pure  minded  and  faithful  christian.  He  who  lives  amid 
the  ideals  of  truth,  beauty,  and  perfection,  must  perceive 
the  moral  to  be  the  highest  form  of  these,  and  the  divine 
Son  of  God  their  highest  embodiment :  and  it  would  seem 
most  natural  and  fitting  that  such  an  one  should  sit  at  the 
feet  of  this  great  Teacher  of  truth  and  duty,  learning  his 
doctrines,  receiving  his  salvation,  copying  his  example,  and 
following  him  devoutly  in  the  only  sure  heavenward  way. 
Therefore  would  I  say  to  thee,  O  thou  servant  of  divine 
philosophy,  thou  man  of  beautiful  arts,  and  of  chaste  and 
glorious  letters !  whatever  thou  mayest  fail  of  in  earthly 
rewards,  thou  canst  attain  to  this  great  end — thou  canst 
save  thyself — thou  canst  perfect  thy  being,  thou  canst  be 
a  child  of  light  nov/,  and  feel  thy  wings  growing  that  thou 
mayest  be  an  angel  of  light  in  heaven,  when  thy  work  is 
done  on  earth  ! 

And  the  other  motive,  which  relates  to  mankind  at  large, 
is  akin  to  this  one,  and  inseparable  from  it.  "  I  am  long 
since  persuaded,"  says  Milton,  "  that  to  say  or  do  aught 
worth  memory  and  imitation,  no  purpose  or  respect  should 
sooner  move  us  than  simply  the  love  of  God,  and  of  man- ' 
kind." 

The  same  sentiment  Shakspeare  has  nobly  expressed  in 
his  famous  lines : 


•"  Be  just  and  fear  not : 


Let  all  the  ends  thou  aim'st  at,  be  thy  country's, 
Thy  God's,  and  truth's." 

That  very  process  by  which  the  soul  is  perfected  in- 
volves these  ends.    It  is  by  serving  truth  and  justice  that 

the  soul  attams  to  a  divine  nature ;  and  serving  truth  and 

12 


86  PHIL0MATHi3AN  (JELEBRATIONi 

justice,  it  serves  God  and  mankind.  He  who  undertakes 
to  live  only  for  himself,  violates  the-  highest  law  of  his  be- 
ing, and  the  social  constitution  of  the  universe.  As  he  can- 
not diffuse  happiness,  so  he  cannot  be  happy  himself.  The 
sun  shining  from  age  to  age  loses  none  of  his  brightness  : 
he  is  the  sun  because  he  always  shines  :  and  the  great  God 
whom  he  symbolizes  is  ever  giving  and  blessing :  and  God 
is  God  because  he  ever  gives  and  blesses.  And  man,  the 
noblest  creature  of  God  in  this  lower  world,  is  truly  man 
only  as  he  is  godlike. 

All  the  great  and  good  of  our  race  have  acted  upon  this 
principle.  The  hero  dying  for  his  country ;  the  martyr 
dying  for  his  religion ;  the  philosopher  dying  for  the  truth  ; 
the  poet  and  the  artist  wearing  out  life  in  the  accomplish- 
ment of  great  tasks  for  enlightening  and  elevating  man- 
kind ;  and  the  philanthropist,  measuring  some  form  of  hu- 
man suffering  and  devoting  his  energies  to  its  alleviation 
or  removal — have  all  acted  upon  this  principle.  And  that 
divine  Form  which  appeared  among  men  eighteen  centu- 
ries ago,  and  who  presented  in  his  humanity  the  realized 
ideal  of  all  human  perfection,  inculcated  in  his  teaching, 
and  illustrated  by  his  life  and  death,  the  sublime  senti- 
ment, "  It  is  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive;" 

Now  I  conceive,  that  as  this  is  the  highest  motive  for  all 
great  and  worthy  deeds ;  so  there  are  none  to  whom  it 
more  fitly  belongs  than  to  those  who  make  it  their  voca- 
tion to  speak  to  men  in  the  noblest  forms  of  human  speech, 
or  by  the  symbols  of  the  beautiful  arts.  To  feel  intensely 
the  charms  and  inspiration  of  the  objects  of  art  and  litera- 
ture is  both  noble  and  indispensable :  to  seek  the  highest 
elevation  of  one's  own  spiritual  being  is  an  angelic  aspira- 
tion :  but  to  let  this  inspiration  and  aspiration  flow  out  in 


ORATION.  S7 

streams  of  blessings  upon  the  world,  is,  to  become  a  co- 
worker with  God. 

Here  then,  O  men  of  literature  and  art !  is  the  sublime 
spirit  of  your  calling — to  be  inspired  by  the  beautiful  and 
true — to  aspire  after  the  perfection  of  your  being — and  to 
seek  to  make  the  world  wiser,  better,  and  happier — to  live 
a  true  manly  life,  while  ye  live  ;  and  when  ye  die,  to  leave 
behind  you  angel  foot-prints  on  the  sands  of  time. 

But  we  are  not  all  men  of  art  and  literature  by  our  vo- 
cation. Although  we  have  all  leaned  on  the  bosom  of  our 
jA-lma  Mater,  and  been  nursed  by  the  same  living  currents, 
we  have  taken  diiferent  ways  in  life.  We  are  found  in 
the  various  learned  professions,  in  political  stations,  in 
commerce,  and  in  the  industrial  arts.  It  is  well  that  we 
have  taken  different  ways.  All  these  places  should  be 
filled  by  educated  men.  All  these  forms  of  activity  are 
honorable.  The  labor  of  mind  in  literature,  and  the  labor 
of  mind  in  governing  the  arts  and  the  arm  of  industry,  be- 
long to  the  same  wise  and  benign  constitution  of  society. 
Without  literature,  man  would  attain  to  no  refinement  and 
elevation  ;  without  industry,  he  would  make  no  improve- 
ments in  the  world  in  which  he  lives.  Thought  and  work 
are  the  two  great  energies  of  being.  Thought  and  work 
fill  space  and  eternity. 

What  God  never  disjoins,  it  is  the  folly  and  error  of  man 
to  attempt  to  disjoin.  Man  is  prone  to  be  all  thought,  or 
all  work.  In  philosophy,  he  forgets  the  practical ;  in  the 
practical,  he  forgets  philosophy.  In  contemplating  the 
heavens,  he  leaves  the  earth  behind  him  ;  while  working 
in  the  earth,  he  neglects  to  look  up  to  the  heavens.  In  the 
ideal  he  forgets  the  actual,  in  the  actual  the  ideal. 

In  this  great  universe  God  has  joined  together  the  useful 
and  the  beautiful.    The  heavens  and  the  earth  are  full  of 


88  PHILOMATHEAN   CELEBRATION. 

poetry  and  industry.  The  same  organific  life  which  builds 
up  the  compact  masses  of  vegetable  and  animal  structures, 
scatters  the  earth  with  flowers,  and  bestows  grace  and 
loveliness.  Man  hath  the  two  elements  in  his  nature  wed- 
ded together  by  a  divine  hand.  Why  should  we  attempt 
to  separate  them,  and  thus  destroy  the  harmony  and  com- 
pleteness of  our  being  ? 

In  our  age,  particularly  in  our  country,  we  are  most 
prone  to  sacrifice  the  ideal,  the  heavenly,  the  thoughtful, 
the  beautiful,  the  poetic  element,  to  the  industrial,  the  work- 
ing, the  useful  element.  So  boundless  is  the  field  of  enter- 
prise, so  many  the  opportunities  of  gaining  wealth  and  in- 
fluence, that  we  are  tempted  away  from  our  higher  desti- 
nies, to  pursue,  too  eagerly,  the  lower.  'But  let  us  adopt 
the  great  principle  of  life — to  live  for  the  good  of  the  world 
in  which  we  live — to  accomplish  in  our  day  some  benign 
work  in  which  to  embalm  our  memories  to  other  times — 
then  shall  we  preserve  the  integrity  of  our  souls,  and  nou- 
rish the  divine  light  and  power  within  us. 

Men  who  have  been  educated  at  these  seats  of  learning 
— who  have  been  bound  together  in  these  early  literary 
associations,  may  carry  with  them  in  every  department  of 
active  life  these  pure  classical  tastes.  The  working  ele- 
ment may  be  made  subsidiary  to  the  ideal,  the  intellectual, 
and  the  moral.  Let  us  not  gain  wealth  and  station  for 
their  own  sakes,  for  they  will  perish  in  the  using  ;  but  that 
we  may  thereby  promote  the  great  end  of  human  improve- 
ment. Let  the  arm  of  industry  open  the  springs  of  truth, 
beauty,  harmony,  and  benevolence.  The  history  of  litera- 
ture presents  us  instances  where  the  hours  devoted  to  busi- 
ness were  succeeded  by  hours  devoted  to  thought,  study, 
and  literary  labor.  Why  should  we  not  follow  these  lofty 
examples  ?    Why  should  we  forever  be  laboring  with  Vul- 


ORATION.  89 

can  at  his  forge  ?  Do  we  not  hear  Apollo  and  the  muses 
now  singing  in  the  serene  heavens  ?  Look  abroad  !  We 
have  other  work  to  do  besides  building  houses  and  ships, 
stretching  out  railroads,  speculating  in  stocks,  and  electing 
Presidents. 

We  have  two  things,  at  least,  immediately  before  us,  of 
which  this  day  and  this  occasion  remind  us.  We  have  to 
create  a  national  literature,  and  to  found  and  cherish  great 
institutions  of  learning. 

We  are  prone  to  say,  We  are  a  young  nation,  and  much 
is  not  yet  to  be  expected  of  us  :  Avhen  we  shall  have  lived 
as  long  as  other  nations,  we  will  have  reached  the  same 
point  of  development.  This  I  conceive  to  be  a  fallacy. 
We  are  a  young  nation,  but  we  are  a  branch  of  the  great 
English  stock.  We  have  not  begun  our  career  with  an 
imperfect  language,  and  a  crude  and  nascent  literatm'e. 
The  English  language  in  its  ripest  condition  is  ours. 
The  whole  of  English  literature  is  ours.  Chaucer,  Shak- 
speare,  Milton,  Addison,  and  Burke,  are  ours.  Why  should 
we  be  behind  the  writers  of  Old  England  ?  We  have  the 
thoughts  of  her  centuries  laid  at  our  feet — we  have  the 
piled  up  libraries  which  her  old  men  eloquent  have  writ- 
ten— we  have  the  precious  seed  of  the  good  old  English 
hearts  sown  here  in  this  fresh  and  virgin  soil.  Are  we  not 
called  upon  to  do  something  worthy  of  our  parentage  ? 

We  labor  under  a  similar  fallacy  with  regard  to  our  lite- 
rary institutions.  We  think  we  do  a  great  and  sufficient 
work  for  the  present  in  our  Common  School  Education  ; 
and  that  when  we  are  old  enough,  we  shall  have  universi- 
ties and  libraries.  I  withhold  no  praise  from  our  Common 
School  Education — our  moral  and  political  life  depends  up- 
on it.  But  it  is  through  the  influence  of  the  higher  institu- 
tions that  we  shall  perfect  the  Common  School  System. 


90  PHILOMATHEAN   CELEBRATION. 

The  masses  of  uneducated  men  do  not  make  the  first 
movement  for  general  education.  The  work  of  education 
in  all  its  departments  belongs  to  educated  men.  Wherever 
they  are  located,  in  professionul  duty,  in  business,  and  in 
social  life,  they  exert  an  elevating  influence-^-they  scatter 
thoughts — they  shape  opinion.  The  academies  and  high- 
er seminaries  are  taught  by  them : — they  thus  create 
schoolmasters  for  the  Comrnon  Schools.  Destroy  the  high- 
er institutions,  and  Common  School  Education  would  dete- 
riorate, and  at  length  become  annihilated.  The  more,  we 
multiply  educated  men,  the  more  we  act  upon  the  masses 
of  the  people,  and  raise  the  general  standard  of  education. 
The  first  movement  in  education  by  the  Pilgrim  Fathers, 
was  the  establishment  of  Harvard  College.  Create  the 
higher  institutions,  and  all  others,  like  the  lesser  lights, 
will  be  evolved  from  the  bosom  of  these  suns,  and  circle 
around  them  and  be  nourished  by  their  influences. 

We  require  yet  in  our  country  a  higher  standard  of  pre- 
paratory classical  and  scientific  discipline  for  the  College 
course,  and  the  establishment  of  a  University  course  for  the 
ripe  prosecution  of  every  branch  of  learning  ;  and  in  con- 
nection with  this  we  need  large  and  well  assorted  libraries. 
Can  any  good  reason  be  assigned  why  we  should  be  be- 
hind the  German  States  in  these  respects  ?  Why  should 
not  the  city  of  New- York,  instead  of  two  moderate  Colle- 
ges, have  a  University  with  its  hundred  professors,  its  two 
thousand  students,  and  its  ample  libraries  and  cabinets,  as 
well  as  the  city  of  Berlin  ?  Why  should  not  Union  Col- 
lege equal  Gottingen  or  Halle  ?  We  surpass  the  German 
States  in  wealth,  shall  we  be  behind  them  in  mental  eleva- 
tion and  taste  ?  Does  it  require  any  thing  more  than  a 
right  appropriation  of  our  wealth  to  enlarge  and  perfect  our 
system  of  education  ?    The  German  Universities,  Gymna- 


ORATION*  91 

sia,  and  Common  Schools,  form  one  compact  and  complete 
system  co-working  harmoniously,  and  sustaining  each 
other.     Why  should  it  not  be  so  with  us  ? 

And  this  system  is  peculiarly  adapted  to  Republican  In- 
stitutions. The  Universities  of  Germany  have  ever  been 
the  strongholds  of  freedom.  From  the'm  came  forth  the 
Reformation.  From  them  will  yet  come  forth  the  liberty 
of  the  people.  They  have  been  nourished  by  the  govern-* 
ment  for  no  such  end,  but  that  end  is  even  now  near  its 
accomplishment.  Every  enlightened  people  must  be  a  free 
people. 

Is  it  not  time  to  agitate  the  question,  whether  our  Lite- 
rature Fund  is  not  lost  by  its  comminution  and  wide  dis- 
persion among  Common  Schools ;  and  whether  its  concen- 
tration upon  the  higher  institutions  is  not  demanded  ? 

We  can  sustain  our  Common  Schools  without  it.  Com- 
mon School  Education  is  so  cheap  that  it  need  not  be 
cheapened  any  more.  It  is  the  lightest  burden  that  we 
bear.  Look  at  the  trifling  deduction  made  upon  this  light 
burden  by  the  distribution  of  the  fund : — does  this  rich 
people  require  it  ?  Massachusetts  has  no  literature  fund, 
and  her  free  school  system,  sustained  by  a  tax  self-imposed 
in  the  town  meetings,  educates  her  whole  population. 
Her  schools  certainly  are  not  inferior  to  those  of  the  State 
of  New- York.  Now  this  literature  fund,  concentrated  upon 
our  higher  institutions,  would  soon  realize  for  us  the  Gym- 
nasia, Universities,  and  libraries  of  Germany.  And  in 
this  way,  too,  would  fitting  places  be  multipHed  for  literary 
and  scientific  men,  where  they  might  labor  for  the  glory  of 
their  country  and  the  good  of  mankind.  Thus  would  our 
national  literature  be  ripened. 

And  let  it  be  remembered,  too,  that  these  culminating 
institutions  would  as  truly  belong  to  the  people  as  the 


92  PHILOMATHEAN   CELEBRATION. 

Common  Schools  themselves.  More  poor  men,  or  men  in 
moderate  ch'cumstances,  are  educated  in  our  Colleges  now 
than  any  other.  The  Universities  with  their  libraries 
would  be  open  to  them  in  the  same  way.  In  truth,  every 
thing  in  our  country  belongs  to  the  people.  The  country 
is  the  people's,  and  the  government  is  the  people's. 
Therefore  the  literature  fund  belongs  to  the  people ;  and  if 
they  would  consent  to  withdraw  it  from  the  Common 
Schools,  and  appropriate  it  to  Academies,  Colleges,  and 
Universities,  the  great  work  would  be  done.  Had  the  sur- 
plus fund,  distributed  among  the  States,  been  appropriated 
in  this  way,  our  great  system  of  National  Education  would 
have  been  founded. 

Now  it  seems  to  me  that  on  an  occasion  like  this, 
we  may  think  such  thoughts,  cherish  sach  purposes  and 
hopes,  and  speak  such  words,  with  the  utmost  freedom  and 
sincerity.  The  highest  end  of  a  human  being,  compre- 
hending all  other  proper  ends,  is,  to  know  the  truth  and  do 
his  duty.  I  think  I  have  shown,  that  as  scholars — as  lite- 
rary men,  this  great  end  presents  itself  to  us,  with  com- 
manding authority  and  attraction.  It  is  our  esprit  du 
corps :  it  has  inspired  every  truly  great  man,  and  led  to 
every  truly  great  work.  It  is  in  this  spirit  that  we  are  to 
ask  ourselves.  What  can  we  do  for  perfecting  our  systems 
of  education,  and  creating  a  National  Literature  ? 

For  these  lofty  objects,  we  shall  labor  under  diiFerent 
vocations;  and  yet  actuated  by  the  one  common  spirit 
which  binds  us  together,  we  shall  labor  effectually. 

It  is  in  itself  a  high  and  thrilling  destiny,  to  live  in  such 
an  age  and  such  a  country  as  ours,  under  the  character  we 
sustain.  Our  world  has  been  doomed  to  ages  of  darkness, 
oppression,  and  sorrow,  during  which,  the  good  spirits  of 
our  race  have  been  battling  with  hostile  elements,  alas ! 


ORATION.  93 

too  often,  only  to  fall  in  the  battle.    We  have  now  just  ar- 
rived at  that  point  of  progress  where  great  principles  have 
gained  a  vantage  ground,  from  which  they  are  diifusing 
their  light,  and  making  their  power  to  be  felt  throughout 
the  world.     Our  country  is  itself  the  work  of  great  princi- 
ples.   It  rises  up  before  mankind  a  sublime  monument  of 
freedom  of  thought,  and  freedom  of  conscience.    The  na- 
tions of  the  earth  now  look  to  us  as  a  law  and  a  demon- 
stration.    Men  can  shake  off  the  despotisms  of  Priests  and 
Kings,  and  govern  themselves.     Men  can  sit,  each  one  un- 
der his  own  vine  and  under  his  own  fig  tree,  and  pm'sue 
the  ends  of  a  rational  existence,  without  the  fro  wing  au- 
thorities of  the  past.     Shall  we  not  prove  to  them,  also, 
that  the  ripest  forms  of  education,  that  philosophy  clear 
and  majestic,  the  arts  of  beauty  in  their  noblest  develop- 
ments, letters  in  their  noblest  productions,  all  that  elevates, 
refines,  adorns,    and  perpetuates   national  existence,   are 
native  to  the  soil  of  freedom  ;  and  that  the  petty  States  of 
ancient  Greece  were  but  prophetic  miniature  of  the  mighty 
States  of  Republican  America  ?     And  then  inspired  by  our 
example,  and  om:  success,  mankind  shall  awake  from  the 
long  slumber  of  error  and  weakness,  and  enter  with  us  in- 
to the  race  of  freedom,  glory,  and  happiness.     Then  the 
desolations  of  war  shall  cease,  and  Industry,  Art,  Letters, 
and  Christianity,  shall  become  the  circling  hours  of  our 
globe,  and  lead  on  the  glorious  morning  of  a  new  heavens 
and  a  new  earth  wherein  dwelleth  righteousness :  and  the 
ideal  of  Poets,  and  the  vision  of  Prophets,  shall  be  realized 
in  the  Sabbath  of  the  World. 

After  an  ode  from  the  Choir,  the  benediction  was  pro- 
nounced by  the  Rev.  Cornelius  C.  Cuyler,  D.  D. 


13 


DINNER. 


The  exercises  at  the  church  being  closed,  the  procession 
again  formed,  and  marched  through  Church  and  State 
streets  to  the  Dining  Hall  at  the  Eagle  Hotel.  A  large 
flag  floated  over  the  Hotel,  bearing  the  inscription,  Philo- 
MATHEAN.  TMs  Hall  had  also  been  finely  ornamented 
by  the  attending  members  of  the  Society,  kindly  assisted 
by  the  young  ladies  of  the  city.  Extending  over  the  Presi- 
dent's seat,  was  the  name  of  the  Society, 

Kojvwvia  ^ikoixa&(^v 
in  letters  formed  of  evergreens ;  and  encircling  the  name 
was  its  cherished  motto, 

VIRTUS,    SCIENTIA,    ET    AMICITIA. 

Upon  the  opposite  end  of  the  hall  was  a  silk  banner, 
upon  which  were  wrought  in  gold  the  names  of  the  nine 
venerable  founders  of  the  Society — Benjamin  Romayne, 
John  B.  Romeyn,  Henry  Frey  Yates,  Thomas  Romeyn, 
Adrian  C.  Van  Slyck,  Levi  H.  Palmer,  Peter  C.  Veeder, 
Moses  I.  Cantine,  and  Cornelius  D.  Schermerhorn.  A 
double  wreath  of  evergreens  surrounded  the  room,  and 
*upon  the  walls  huug  the  portraits  and  framed  diploma 
which  deck  the  Society  Hall.  The  table  of  the  President 
and  Vice-Presidents  of  the  day,  was  adorned  with  a  pyra- 
mid of  flowers,  presented  by  Dr.  Harmon  Wendell,  of  Al- 
bany. The  other  tables  were  decorated  with  vases  of 
flowers  furnished  for  the  occasion  by  E.  C.  Delavan,  Esq. 


96  PHILOMATHEAN   CELEBRATION.     ' 

Nor  was  the  eye  alone  pleased :  the  less  refined  cravings 
of  the  physical  man  were  not  neglected.  The  tables  were 
laden  with  a  variety  and  profusion  sufficient  to  tempt  and 
satisfy  the  most  fastidious  appetite,  and  make  all  for  a  time 
willingly  forget  the  instructions  so  often  received  from  the 
venerable  President  of  the  College,  that  eating  had  nothing 
of  the  intellectual  in  it,  and  therefore  was  to  be  indulged  in 
but  sparingly.  All  partook  freely,  the  Band  playing  exhila- 
rating music,  ab  ovo  usque  ad  mala. 

The  following  gentlemen  were  the  officers  appointed  for 
the  dinner : 

Rev,  JOSEPH  SWEETMAN,  D.  D.,  President 

VICE-PRESIDENTS, 

Levi  H.  Palmer,  Hiram  P.  Hunt, 

John  L.  Zabriskie,  N.  P.  Tallmadge, 

John  Savage,  John  W.  Edmonds, 

John  W.  Taylor,  George  W.  Doane, 

Cornelius  C.  Cuyler,  William  Kent, 

T.  RoMEYN  Beck,  Joel  B.  Nott, 

Adam  Empie,  Cyrus  Morgan, 

Aaron  Clark,  Henry  White, 

John  C.  Spencer,  William  Wilson, 

Alfred  Conklin,  Francis  Haimilton, 

Alex.  McClelland,  John  Foster, 
Jonathan  Pearson. 

At  three  o'clock  the  President  called  the  assembly  to  or- 
der, and  a  blessing  was  pronounced  by  Rev.  C.  C.  Cuyler, 
D.  D.  After  the  repast,  the  President  opened  the  literary 
exercises  of  the  occasion  with  the  following  address : 

Gentlemen — Brethren  of  the  Philomathean  So- 
ciety : — I  congratulate  you  on  our  present  social  meeting. 


DINNER*  97 

The  transactions  of  this  day  are  peculiarly  interesting  to 
some  of  those  present.  Fifty  years  have  passed  away 
since  many  of  the  early  members  have  attended  a  meeting 
of  this  Society.  Amidst  the  many  and  great  changes  we 
have  witnessed,  while  travelling  throiigh  this  portion  of 
time,  we  have  passed  in  safety  the  dangers  that  have 
encompassed  us,  and  now  meet  with  friends  and  brethren 
in  circumstances  of  comfort,  and  enjoy  the  privilege  of 
spending  an  hour  in  social  communion.  In  entering  upon 
the  anticipated  satisfactions  of  this  hour,  you  will  allow  me 
the  privilege  of  offering  a  few  expressions,  suggested  by 
the  present  occasion.  It  is  not  forgotten  that  the  law  of 
propriety  forbids  my  attempting  to  detain  you  with  a 
lengthy  speech,  from  other  proceedings  that  may  be  more 
interesting  than  any  thing  I  shall  present. 

We  have  met  to  celebrate  the  semi-centennial  era  of  the 
existence  of  this  Society.  Our  meeting  affords  a  pleasant 
opening  to  revive  old  friendships,  and  cultivate  the  ac- 
quaintance of  younger  brethren.  The  brotherly  kindness 
and  good  feeling  depicted  on  the  coimtenances  of  this  assem- 
bly, indicate  a  willingness  to  co-operate  in  the  acc(^mplish- 
ment  of  so  desirable  an  end.  We  have  reason  to  celebrate 
this  day  with  thankfulness.  It  testifies  to  us  that  the  Phi- 
lomathean  Society  has  lived  and  flourished  through  more 
than  half  a  century.  This  Society  dates  its  origin  at  an 
earlier  day  than  the  charter  of  Union  College.  It  was  form- 
ed by  a  few  young  men,  who  belonged  to  the  academy 
existing  in  this  place  anterior  to  the  College. 

It  could  not  have  entered  into  the  minds  of  those  who 
originated  this  Society,  that  it  would  at  any  future  time 
accomplish  what  it  has  already  achieved.  Here,  a  succes- 
sion of  young  men  have  mutually  assisted,  encouraged,  and 
stimulated  each  other  in  literary  pursmts  and  useful  acqui- 


98  PHILOMATHEAN    CELEBRATION. 

sitions.  This  Society  has  not  only  existed  since  1793,  but 
it  has  through  this  long  period  been  progressive— acquiring 
strength,  gaining  influence,  and  extending  its  usefulness. 
What  future  progress  may  be  anticipated  under  additional 
and  accumulating  advantages  ?  It  has  now  a  respectable 
and  generally  well  selected  library,  which  puts  its  mem- 
bers in  possession  of  a  literature  to  which  they  could  not 
otherwise  have  access.  It  is  readily  conceded  that  the 
later  members  of  this  Society  enjoy  greater  advantages  and 
are  more  benefitted  than  earlier  members,  who  were  con- 
nected with  it  when  it  was  an  infant,  striving  to  retain  its 
hold  on  life,  and  casting  about  for  any  kind  and  helping 
hand  that  might  offer  fostering  care.  The  members  now 
realize  their  advantages  in  the  business  of  the  Society. 
Here  they  become  habituated  to  thinking,  debating,  compo- 
sing, and  speaking.  Even  in  the  early  stages  of  its  exist- 
ence, Avhen  its  advantages  were  comparatively  few,  and 
you  might  have  carried  its  library  under  your  arm,  it  was 
not  altogether  inefficient  in  the  accomplishment  of  useful 
purposes.  It  compelled  its  members  to  put  forth  their 
efforts  to  gather  up  attainments  made,  and  apply  them  for 
present  use,  and  to  submit  to  the  excision  of  protuberances 
that  might  have  impeded  their  after  progress. 

What  this  Society  has  accomplished  in  filling  up  the  in- 
terstices of  a  collegiate  course,  in  exciting  the  youthful 
mind  to  improve  its  resources,  cultivate  social  feelings,  and 
strengthen  the  ties  of  friendship,  furnishes  the  proof  of  its 
beneficial  effects,  and  establishes  its  claims  to  our  regard. 
May  we  not,  in  celebrating  the  past,  anticipate  the  future- 
with  high  expectation  ?  What  will  be  the  state  of  the 
Philomathean  Society  at  the  end  of  the  next  fifty  years  ? 
What  seer  can  tell?  We  hope  for  the  best.  But  who 
shall  be  there  to  recount  the  past,  or  conjecture  for  the  fu- 


DINNER.  99 

ture  ?  We  trust  the  Adelphic  Society  will  be  there.  Let 
that  and  this  travel  on  together ;  not  as  rivals,  but  as  co- 
workers in  the  accomplishment  of  useful  and  laudable 
ends.  Let  them,  if  it  must  be  so,  imitate  each  other  in 
generous  sentiments,  as  well  as  literary  attainments.  But 
never  let  party  spirit  engender  strife  and  create  discordant 
feelings.  But  who  more  shall  be  there?  Few — perhaps 
none  of  this  assembly  shall  reach  that  era.  Let  not  this 
thought  damp  the  joyous  and  social  feeling  of  the  present 
hour.     All  we  trust  will  be  right,  though  loe  be  not  there. 

In  the  review  of  what  is  past — in  the  survey  of  what  is 
present — in  the  hope  of  what  is  yet  to  come,  we  have  rea- 
son to  be  thankful,  and  congratulate  each  other  on  our 
comfortable  and  safe  arrival  at  the  present  point  in  our 
journey  on  to  the  future.  We  look  around  on  our  junior 
brethren,  and  bid  them  welcome  to  their  present  station, 
and  give  them  our  best  wishes  in  all  the  future  stages  of 
their  progress  through  life.  And  now,  brethren,  let  us  for 
a  little  season  give  reins  to  the  feelings  the  occasion  in- 
spires, and  let  our  tongues  be  free  to. utter  the  sentiments 
of  our  hearts,  and  the  counsels  of  wisdom  and  truth. 

At  the  conclusion  of  this  address,  the  following  ode, 
written  for  the  occasion  by  Rev.  Henry  P.  Tappan,  D.  D,, 
was  sung  by  the  assembly. 

ODE. 

BY   REV.    HENRY    P.    TAPPAN,   D.    H. 

Air — "  God  Save  Avierica." 
Brothers !  we're  here  once  more — 
Not  as  in  days  of  yore, 

When  life  was  young, 
And  'mid  that  morning  light, 
Hope,  as  an  angel  bright, 
Before  our  raptured  sight. 

Her  visions  hung. 


lOQ  PHILOMATHEAN   CELEBRATION. 

Men  of  the  ripened  prime, 
Men  of  the  hoary  time. 

Here  we  have  come ; — 
From  the  midst  of  human  life, 
From  weary  toil  and  strife, 
And  with  experience  rife, 

Brothers  at  home ! 

Home  of  our  early  thought ! 
Where  hand  in  hand  we  sought 

Knowledge  and  truth, 
Keceive  us  back  again, 
Coming  as  care-worn  men, 
As  you  received  us  then. 

In  early  youth. 

Well  have  we  done  our  part, 
And  kept  unstained  our  heart  ? 

Then  wilt  thou  bless : 
Or  having  gone  astray, 
Seek  we  our  home  to-day, 
Thou  wilt  not  say  us — nay— 

Or  love  us  less ! 

Lovers  of  Learning  I*  we 
Cannot  forgetful  be 

Of  this  fair  spot : 
Fair  memories  arise,  ^ 
Thoughts  that  now  fill  our  eyes, 
When  shone  those  halcyon  skies 

Upon  our  lot. 

Some  are  not  with  us  here — 

Their  mem'ry  claims  a  tear — 

The  hallowed  dead ! 

To  brighter  worlds  now  flown, 

Their  work  of  life  well  done, 
For  noble  thoughts  w^ere  sown, 

Ere  they  had  fled. 

•  Philomathean. 


DINNER.  101 

Perhaps  e'en  at  this  hour, 
We  feel  their  gentle  power 

Upon  us  shed : — 
A  mystery  of  the  skies 
Upon  the  earthly  lies — 
Our  holiest  sympathies 

Are  with  the  dead ! 

Here  let  us  pledge  our  truth, 
As  erst  in  early  youth, 

Faithful  to  be : 
The  honored  name  w^e  bear, 
The  holy  trusts  we  share, 
Claim  that  w^e  do  and  dare 

AU  manfully. 

A  higher  life  to  live, 

More  precious  gifts  to  give, 

This  is  our  part : 
That  when  our  work  is  done, 
And  we  the  prize  have  wron. 
We,  like  the  setting  sun, 

May  hence  depart. 

Upon  the  conclusion  of  the  singing,  the  venerable  Presi- 
dent resigned  the  chair  to  Joel  B.  Nott,  one  of  the  Vice- 
Presidents,  who  read  the  first  regular  toast.  This,  he  said, 
was  intended  to  compliment  the  man  whom  every  member 
of  the  Society  deeply  reverences,  and  highly  honors. 
Though  the  winds  of  many  a  winter  have  weakened  the 
physical  man,  they  have  not  diminished  the  brilliancy  and 
power  of  his  mind.  Old  as  he  is  in  years,  he  yet  sympa- 
thises with  us,  his  juniors,  in  every  thing  that  affects  lite- 
rature, science,  morals,  and  the  well-being  of  our  race  :  and 
he  feels  the  highest  interest  in  these  young  men  who  are 
just  coming  forward  upon  the  stage  of  life,  and  upon  whom 
he  hopes,  as  do  we  also,  that  his  example  may  have  its 

desired  effect. 

14 


102  PHILOMATHEAN    CELEBRATION. 

He  then  read  the  toast,  which  was  received  with  great 
applause. 

FIRST    REGULAR    TOAST. 

The  Venerable  President  of  the  Day — Most  ancient  oak  of  a  goodly 
forest. 

To  this  toast  Dr.  Sweetman  rephed  as  follows : 
I  tender  my  acknowledgments  to  the  Philomathean  So- 
ciety for  the  sentiment  now  expressed,  and  fully  concur  in 
the  justice  of  its  passing  over  myself  and  resting  upon  my 
cotemporaries. 

Now,  gentlemen,  you  have  got  me  on  my  feet,  I  would 
give  you  to  understand  I  feel  very  large,  though  some- 
what embarrassed.  I  have  just  heard  the  brethren  say 
that  I  am  a  "  venerable  oak,"  not  a  shrub  oak,  but  a  sturdy 
oak  of  "  a  goodly  forest."  One  difficulty  is  now  over.  I 
am  up,  and  begin  to  feel  at  ease.  But  another  remains, 
and  may  not  so  soon  be  disposed  of;  and  that  is,  to  get  me 
down  again.  Perhaps  it  will  be  thought,  before  all  is  over, 
the  Scotch  proverb  is  applicable  to  the  present  case : 
which,  done  in  plain  Saxon,  means,  "  It  is  easy  enough  to 
raise  the  devil,  but  not  so  easy  to  lay  him."  But  that  I 
may  proceed  with  my  response,  you  must  bear  the  inflic- 
tion of  a  speech,  and  I  accordingly  go  on  to  say,  first,  it 
ought  not  to  pass  unnoticed  that  the  second  growth  of  tim- 
ber is  better  than  the  first — more  solid — the  interstices  bet- 
ter filled  up,  the  layers  more  compact,  and  the  whole  body 
better  fitted  for  use  and  durability.  We  are  glad  to  see 
the  forest  so  well  supplied  with  young  and  thrifty  trees, 
and  anticipate  from  them  a  goodly  supply  of  timber  to 
build  our  temples,  adorn  our  legislative  halls,  and  orna- 
ment all  our  best  and  most  valued  structures. 

It  would  be  rather  misplaced  to  attempt  to  criticise  upon 
a  sentiment   so  partially   and   favorably  expressed,  and 


DINNER.  103 

which  has  expanded  my  dimensions  to  an  oak.  But  not- 
withstanding all  the  bulk  it  assigns  to  myself,  I  may  be 
permitted  to  say,  (however  much  my  interest  as  to  size 
may  be  at  stake,)  I  am  not  sure  that  some  slender  and  fra- 
gile tree  would  not  have  been  more  appropriate  in  the 
comparison,  as  far  as  I  am  personally  concerned.  Leav- 
ing this,  however,  to  be  corrected  or  confirmed,  as  kindness 
and  good  feeling  may  decide,  I  proceed  onward  with  my 
speech.  And  here  I  should  say,  secondly,  according  to  the 
usage  of  all  great  speakers,  but  I  do  not  aspire  to  so  high  a 
rank,  fearing  I  might  become  dizzy  with  the  elevation,  and 
to  avoid  the  danger,  claim  the  right  to  dispense  with  my 
own  proposed  form,  and  choose  to  take  the  place  of  my 
respected  friend  and  brother,  Levi  H.  Palmer,  Esq.,  who 
was  expected  to  respond  to  this  toast,  but  is  detained  at 
home  by  sickness. 

The  reference  to  the  "  goodly  forest"  carries  me  back,  in 
thought,  to  other  days,  when  we  that  are  old  were  young 
and  felt  the  fire  of  youth,  indulged  the  hopes  of  early  life, 
shared  in  the  beginning  of  this  Society,  and  exulted  in  the 
establishment    of    Union    College,     If   we    travel    back 
through  fifty-five  years,  we  find  this  Society  in  its  very  be- 
ginning— its   formers,    though   young,  and  full   of  hope, 
doubting  whether  it  could  long  survive,  and  not  presuming 
at  all  on  its  actual  progress  and  future  usefulness — a  few 
boys,  (mark  this,)  mostly  of  rustic  habits,  and  but  little 
acquainted  with  the  ways  and  attainments  of  literary  life, 
belonging  to  an  academy  of  no  distinguished  celebrity, 
formed  themselves  into  a  society  for  mutual  improvement 
in  knowledge  and  the  requisite  qualifications  for  future 
employment.     They  had  no  nucleus  to  gather  themselves 
around,  nor  any  cotemporary  of  like  design  in  their  neigh- 
borhood, nor  in  the  limits  of  their  acquaintance,  to  guide 


104  PHILOMATHEAN   CELEBRATION. 

or  modify  their  proceedings.  But  they  went  on  to  orga-^ 
nize  as  they  best  could — to  form  a  constitution  and  draw- 
up  by4aws  to  regulate  their  proceedings.  In  all  this  new 
employment  your  speaker  had  his  share — can  narrate  facts 
as  they  occurred,  and  can  bear  his  testimony  that  the 
young  society,  on  the  whole,  succeeded  fully  up  to  their 
liighest  expectations,  and  as  they  had  no  similar  society 
within  the  compass  of  their  personal  acquaintance,  with 
which  to  compare  themselves,  or  outstrip  them  in  succesSj 
they  in  all  simplicity  and  honesty  really  thought  they  were 
accomplishing  great  matters.  They  went  on  in  their  own 
way  with  their  plan  of  improvement,  in  perfect  harmony 
and  good  feeling,  with  a  single  exception.  One  of  the 
most  prominent  members,  and  who  had  contributed  more 
largely  than  any  other  to  the  formation  of  their  little  libra- 
ry, became  dissatisfied  with  some  trifling  occurrence,  and 
withdrew  the  books  he  had  deposited.  This  proceeding 
called  forth  animadversion,  and  for  a  time,  under  excited 
feelings  produced  alienation  amongst  the  members.  This, 
however,  was  but  a  temporary  affusion,  and  at  length 
wore  away  and  harmony  was  restored. 

Though  this  outbreak  took  place  in  the  infancy  of  this 
Society,  be  it  remernbered  we  were  then  Calliopeans,  and 
it  must  never  be  educed  as  an  example  to  justify  similar 
jarrings  amongst  Philomatheans,  especially  in  the  pursuits 
and  under  the  friendly  wing  of  Union  College.  That  this 
Society  is  based  upon  union  and  mutual  good  will — that 
kind  and  friendly  feelings  have  been  predominant  in  it  at 
the  early  stages  of  its  existence,  is  a  fact  known  to  its  hon- 
or. In  illustration  of  the  good  feelmg  and  brotherly  sym* 
pathy  which  prevailed  in  this  Society,  in  the  early  stages 
of  its  existence,  permit  me  to  mention  a  single  incident 
which  occurred  in  1797.    A  member,  who  had  been  one  of 


ORATION.  105 

the  number  from  the  beginning,  was  about  to  leave  the 
Society,  to  prosecute  his  professional  studies  at  another 
place,  happened  to  be  appointed  with  another  member,  ac- 
cording to  the  usual  order  of  business,  to  read  before  the 
Society  written  essays  of  their  own  composing  :  he,  not 
expecting  to  meet  with  the  Society  again,  wrote  a  sort  of 
farewell  address.  The  effect  was  what  he  had  not  antici- 
pated, and  for  which  he  was  not  prepared.  The  Society 
was  moved  to  tears — ^his  own  feelings  were  enlisted — the 
reading  was  finished  with  difficulty.  At  the  close,  a  mem- 
ber rose,  much  excited,  and  moved  that  a  copy  be  request- 
ed, and  the  same  be  recorded  on  the  minutes  of  the  Soci- 
ety. But  such  copy  was  not  furnished.  Could  it  have 
been  found,  it  would  have  been  here,  on  the  present  occa- 
sion, and  if  called  for,  read  in  your  hearing. 

The  first  public  exhibition  of  this  Society  was  on  the 
4th  of  July,  and  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  in  the  year  1796. 
Two  of  its  members  were  appointed  to  deliver  addresses 
on  that  day,  which  they  did,  in  the  old  Dutch  Church, 
long  since  demolished,  to  a  crowded  and  attentive  auditory, 
and  whether  well  or  ill  done,  the  multitude  appeared  to  be 
pleased,  and  retired  satisfied,  and  in  their  ignorance  and 
simplicity  said,  Zabriskie  and  Sweetman  bid  fair,  one  day^ 
to  become  speakers.  This  was  one  of  tha  first  attempts  to 
celebrate  that  day  in  this  place  by  public  addresses.  Now 
I  have  the  floor,  and  as  I  have  already  apprised  you  it 
will  be  no  easy  matter  to  get  me  on  my  seat,  and  I  protest 
I  will  neither  be  coaxed  nor  driven  to  that  alternative  till 
you  hear  me  out — for  what  else  did  you  get  me  up,  and 
read  such  a  wooden  toast,  and  make  me  feel  so  hig. 

Before  I  take  my  seat,  brethren,  permit  me  to  repeat  a 
few  names,  as  I  may  be  able  to  recall  them  to  memory,  of 


106         PHILOMATHEAN  CELEBRATION. 

those  who  formed   this   Society,  and  who  are  not  now 
amongst  the  Uving. 

John  B.  Romeyn,  who  in  subsequent  hfe  was  a  distin- 
guished minister  of  the  gospel,  and  justly  ranked  with  the 
most  accomplished  and  acceptable  public  speakers  of  his 
day. 

Moses  I.  Cantine,  whose  respectability  and  standing  in 
public  life,  claim  our  respectful  remembrance. 

Alexander  McLeod.  I  pronounce  his  name  with  respect. 
Than  Alexander  McLeod,  but  few  men  of  the  age  in  which 
he  lived  possessed  a  stronger  mind,  a  wider  range  of 
thought,  and  a  more  discriminating  judgment.  His  wri- 
tings will  perpetuate  his  memory,  and  his  influence  long 
be  felt  in  the  particular  community  with  which  he  was 
connected. 

Morris  S.  Miller  :  kind,  social,  generous,  noble — after  en- 
tering upon  his  professional  business,  he  was  chosen  a  rep- 
resentative from  this  State  in  Congress,  and  discharged  the 
duties  of  this  office  to  the  satisfaction  of  his  constituents, 
and  with  honor  to  himself,  and  continued  to  retain  the  con- 
fidence and  respect  of  his  acquaintance  to  the  close  of  his 
hfe. 

Adrian  G.  Van  Slyck.  Amiable  and  promising,  we  love 
to  pronounce  his  name.  We  remember  with  what  kind- 
ness and  amenity  he  presided  in  the  first  meetings  of  this 
Society.  He  was  carried  to  his  grave  in  early  life.  No 
record  tells  his  fame. 

But  there  is  one  not  known  to  the  present  generation, 
and  almost  forgotten  amongst  the  living — Benjamin  Ro- 
mayne,  the  most  active  and  influential  individual  in  origi- 
nating this  Society.  His  attainments  and  capacity  for 
acquirement  exceeded  the  greater  part  of  those  who  were 
engaged  with  him  in  this  undertaking.    But  his  course 


DINNER,  107 

was  short — his  days  were  few,  and  no  unpression  remains 
of  what  the  man  might  have  been.  A  few  essays  from  his 
pen,  of  a  humorous  and  sarcastic  character,  over  the  signa- 
ture of  Misogunikos,  were  published  in  the  Mohawk  Mer- 
cury, edited  by  G.  C.  Wyckoff.  but  they  are  lost,  and  prob- 
ably could  not  be  recovered  if  sought  for.  With  the  pros- 
pect before  him  of  distinction  and  usefulness,  he  was  cut 
off  in  early  life,  before  he  had  finished  his  collegiate 
course.  No  monument  of  his  work  remains,  save  this  Soci- 
ety. Here  let  his  name  be  retained — here  let  his  generous 
and  noble,  and  successful  efforts  to  establish  this  Society, 
be  acknowledged  and  appreciated. 

Why  may  I  not  indulge  my  partiality  in  naming  another 
individual  who,  though  not  numbered  with  the  departed, 
was  an  early  member  of  this  Society.  I  allude  to  the 
Hon.  John  Savage,  who  has  held  so  many  civil  offices  in 
this  State,  with  acceptance,  and  occupied  the  bench  of 
Chief  Justice  with  integrity  and  fidelity,  and  has  proved 
himself,  through  a  long  life,  worthy  of  regard  and  entitled 
to  our  esteem.. 

And  now,  brethren,  after  all  the  threatenings  I  have 
uttered  as  to  a  long  speech,  and  the  fuss  I  have  tried  to 
make  about  getting  me  down,  and  you  know  an  old  oak, 
and  this  you  have  made  me,  cannot  be  felled  without  a 
crash,  I  will  now,  however,  quietly  take  my  seat,  and  give 
place  to  others  better  able  to  speak  and  entertain  this  kind 
and  indulgent  assembly  than  myself 

I  say  I  have  done.  The  thought  is  solemn,  that  I  shall 
never  again  be  in  like  circumstances,  but  this  is  my  own 
concern.  I  must  still  add,  I  own  I  cannot  repay  the  com- 
pliment you  have  paid  me.  I  must  therefore  plead  to  re- 
main your  debtor,  but  nevertheless  will  say.  If  no  storm 
shall  prostrate^  nor  blighting  influence  mar  the  growth  of 


108  PHILOMATHEAN   CELEBRATION. 

younger  trees^  the  old  and  decaying  timber  can  well  he 
spared. 

Dr.  SwEETMANj  after  saying  that  every  thing — societies 
and  colleges — beginnings  and  endings — had  been  toasted, 
the  main  thing  was  overlooked — the  place  in  which  all  the 
wonderful  things  we  have  recounted  were  acted — offered 
the  following  toast : 

Old  Dorp — The  Mohawk  is  by  her  side.  Let  her  renew 
her  age  like  the  eagle,  stretch  forth  her  energies,  apply  her 
resources,  and  show  that  she  is  worthy  of  the  religious  and 
literary  institutions  which  dignify  her  name,  and  give  her 
a  place  amongst  our  most  favored  cities. 

The  chairman  then  announced  the 

SECOND  REGULAR  TOAST. 

The  Venerable  Founders  of  the  Philomathean — The  little  tree  planted 
by  their  hands  more  than  half  a  century  ago,  now  towers  in  beauty  and 
magnitucfe. 

[Owing  to  the  absence  of  Levi  H.  Palmer,  Esq.,  one  of 
the  founders,  who  was  expected  to  respond  to  this  toast,  no 
reply  was  made.] 

THIRD    REGULAR    TOAST. 

John  B.  Eomeyn,  Chairman  of  the  Committee  which  draughted  our  first 
Constitution — Honor  to  his  memory. 

FOURTH    REGULAR    TOAST. 

The  Memorable  Class  of  Three — AU  Philomatheans  before  they  were 
Collegians. 

-^Rev.  John  L.  Zabriskie,  who,  with  the  President  of  the 
day,  were  of  the  "  memorable  three"  who  comprised  the 
first  graduating  class  of  Union  College,  and  who  had  been 
requested,  by  the  committee  of  arrangements,  to  reply  to 
this  toast,  transmitted  to  the  chairman  the  following 
letter: 


DINNER.  109 

Millstone,  June  10,  1848. 

Dear  Sir  : — It  is  with  sincere  regret  that  I  feel  obhged 
to  deny  myself  the  gratification  of  attending  the  semi-cen- 
tennial celebration  of  the  Philomathean  Society,  on  the 
35th  of  next  month.  For  although  age  and  its  attendant 
influences  forbid  my  joining  the  social  re-union  of  the  sons 
of  our  Alma  Mater  on  that  occasion,  it  has  not  extinguished 
or  diminished  the  ardor  of  my  attachment  for  her.  As  one 
of  the  earliest  graduates,  I  have  ever  pecuHarly  felt  a  just 
pride,  as  well  in  the  high  stand  taken  and  maintained  by 
our  College  and  Society  among  the  literary  institutions  of 
this  continent,  as  in  the  fraternity  of  their  distinguished 
sons.  It  would  be  grateful  indeed  to  revisit  those  scenes 
once  more,  and  have  the  evening  twilight  of  life  lit  up,  by 
awakening  the  bright  associations  connected  with  its 
dawn. 

Assure  the  committee  that  I  receive  with  heartfelt  emo- 
tions of  pleasure,  the  attention  shown  by  their  special  invi- 
tation, so  kindly  extended  through  you,  showing  that  the 
eldest  sons  of  the  Philomathean  are  not  forgotten  by  their 
junior  brethren. 

With  the  highest  respect, 
I  remain, 

Yours,  truly, 

JOHN  L.  ZABRISKIE. 

The  chairman  here  remarked : — We  have  heard  from 
our  venerable  friends  something  in  relation  to  our  own  So- 
ciety, its  noble  founders  and  early  members.  We  wish 
now  to  hear  something  in  relation  to  other  societies,  and  as 
I  see  in  the  room  a  member  of  the  Adelphic,  I  propose  to 
give  the  following  toast : 

15 


110  PHILOMATHEAN   CELEBRATION. 

FIFTH    REGULAR   TOAST. 
The  Adelphic  Society — Non  diversa  tamen,  qualem  debet  esse  sororem. 

Rt.  Rev.  Bishop  Potter,  being  called  upon,  replied  to 
this  toast  as  follows  : 

I  am  not  as  familiar  with  my  classics  as  formerly,  but  I 
believe  there  was  something  in  that  toast  about  a  sister. 
That  sister,  Sir,  has  a  great  many  sons,  and  I  do  not  know 
by  what  right  I  should  arrogate  to  myself  the  privilege 
of  replying  to  any  thing  which  is  intended  to  reflect 
honor  upon  her.  I  understand  it,  however,  to  be  the  pleas- 
ure of  the  chairman  that  I  should  acknowledge  this  cour- 
tesy, in  behalf  of  the  sister  association  to  which  I  belonged 
during  my  College  course.  I  beg  leave,  therefore,  to  ten- 
der to  you,  and  through  you  to  the  members  of  this  frater- 
nity, our  cordial  acknowledgment  for  your  kindness  and 
civility.  These  institutions.  Sir,  are  sisters;  they  were 
born  in  the  same  family,  reared  under  the  same  roof,  fed 
from  the  same  maternal  breast,  enlightened  by  the  same 
paternal  counsel,  and  sent  forth  into  the  world  with  the 
same  benediction.  As  sisters,  let  them  ever  be  known, 
emulous  in  respect  to  whatever  is  lovely,  honest,  and  of  good 
report,  and  bound  to  each  other  by  the  ties  which  should 
always  connect  those  who  are  members  of  the  same  lite- 
rary household.  Mr.  President,  the  Adelphic  Society  can 
well  afford  to  reciprocate  your  kindness,  to  acknowledge 
the  debt  of  gratitude  which  an  enlightened,  noble,  elder 
sister,  ever  must  impose  on  her  junior  sisters.  I  always 
pity  the  only  daughter  of  a  large  family :  I  have  always 
thought  that  to  attain  the  perfection  of  feminine  excellence 
it  is  necessary  that  sisters  should  rise,  side  by  side,  cheer- 
ing and  animating  each  other — the  younger  guided  and 
stimulated  by  the  achievements  of  the  elder,  and  instructed 
at  the  same  time  by  her  painful  experience.    Sir,  there  will 


DINNER.  Ill 

always  be  momentary  clouds  passing  across  the  sunshine 
of   that  affection   which   should   attain  between   sisters. 
When  I  arrived  here,  a  few  days  ago,  I  found  these  two 
sisters  pouting  at  each  other.     It  was  only  because  they 
were  both  so  ambitious  of  the  favoring  smiles  of  the  gen- 
tlemen.    But  it  was  found  that  this  difficulty  was  soon 
dissipated,  good  hmiior  restored,  and  the  sisters  are  not 
only  loving  sisters  still,  but  they  have  in  fact  resolved  to 
open  their  halls  together  to-day,  so  that,  in  the  language  of 
Jefferson  translated  mto  the  dialect  which  befits  this  place 
and  this  day,  we  are  now  all  Philoniatheans  and  all  Adel- 
phics.     And  we   are   brethren,   not  only  in   this  family, 
claiming  descent  from  the  same  Alma  Mater,  but  also  in  the 
still  larger  family,  the  Republic  of  letters,  and  also  in  that 
older,  holier  family,  the  family  of  our  common  humanity. 
Young  men  within  the  walls  of  College,  in  the  ardor  of 
their  emulation,  may  sometimes  feel  too  keenly  their  exclu- 
sive allegiance.     They  sometimes  imagine  themselves  too 
closely  bound  to  their  respective  societies.     But  how  is  it 
when  they  get  abroad  in  the  world  ?     Where  are  these 
societies  then?     Are  they  here  on  yonder  hill  side ?     No,  Sir ! 
they  are  over  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land.     The 
great  majority  of  their  respective  members  are  doing  battle 
with  the  duties  and  responsibilities  of  life  in  their  various 
spheres  and  callings.     How  is  it  with  them  there?     How 
is  it  with  the  Adelphic  when  he  meets  a  Philomathean  ? 
Does  he  feel  that  he  meets  a  rival,  a  foe  ?     No !  only  a 
brother.     How  is  it  with  you  and  me,  Mr.  President  ?     We 
met  here  three  years  ago,  at  the  semi-centennial  anniver- 
sary of  our  College,  as  brethren.    You  seem  to  wish  to 
meet  me  now  only  as  a  cousin.     I  beg  your  pardon,  Sir, 
you  are  a  brother  still.     Whatever  achievement  in  arts,  in 
learning,  in  high  duty,  can  be  reached  by  the  members  of 


112  PHILOMATHEAN    CELEBRATION. 

this  Society,  we  of  the  Adelphic  Society  claim  part  and 
parcel  in  it.  For  after  all,  did  we  not  all  drink  of  the  same 
milk?  Was  not  our  ambition  fired  at  the  same  altar? 
Surely,  so  that  now  and  always  when  we  meet  on  these 
grounds,  we  meet  as  the  common  children  of  one  Common 
Parent. 

Mr.  Chairman,  I  will  not  detain  you.  I  am  obliged  to 
you  for  your  kindness  expressed  towards  the  Adelphic  So- 
ciety, and  I  am  thankful  for  the  courtesy  which  has  per- 
mitted me  to  hold  a  place  on  the  muster  roll  of  this  Society, 
as  one  of  its  honorary  members.  Appearing  here  as  your 
invited  guest,  and  grateful  for  that  courtesy,  still  I  cannot 
divest  myself  of  my  character,  as  an  Adelphic.  I  therefore 
give  you  as  a  sentiment,  "  The  Philomathean  Society." 
Let  me  imagine  myself  charged  with  a  message  from  your 
Sister.  Let  me  say  for  her,  Sir,  that  she  sends  greeting  to 
you  and  your  fellow  members,  wishing  health,  wealth, 
prosperity,  and  she  gives  you,  as  her  responsive  toast, 
"  The  Philomathean  Society — Felix  "proleP 

The  chairman  then  said : — Finding  that  this  sister  is 
determined  to  be  regarded,  not  as  a  cousin,  but  as  a  mem- 
ber of  the  same  family,  let  us  now  hear  what  are  the  feel- 
ings of  another  sister.    I  propose  the  following  toast : 

SIXTH    REGULAR    TOAST. 

The  Youngest  Sister  of  the  Noble  Trio — The  Delphian  Institute. 

To  this  toast  Hon.  David  Spraker  replied  as  follows  : 
Mr.  President  : — I  had  hoped  that  some  one  better 

qualified  than  myself,  would  have  attempted  to  respond  to 

the  toast  just  given. 

I  cannot,  however,  refrain  from  expressing  the  deepest 

feelings  of  gratitude,  for  the  kind  and  afiec  donate  manner 


DINNER.  113 

in  which  the  Delphian  Institute,  of  which  I  am  proud  to 
be  9-  member,  has  been  noticed  on  this  occasion. 

Sir,  I  might  dwell,  with  pride  and  satisfaction,  on  the 
subject  you  have  afforded  for  discussion.  I  might  allude 
to  its  early  history,  to  the  difficulties  attending  its  origin,  to 
the  obstacles  which  it  has  surmounted,  and  to  its  progress 
to  the  present  day,  but  it  is  due  to  the  occasion  that  I 
should  forbear. 

I  do  not  profess  to  be  numbered  among  its  most  promi- 
nent members  ;  yet  there  are  but  few  whose  membership 
can  be  dated  at  an  earlier  period,  or  who  have  felt  a  deeper 
interest  for  its  welfare  and  prosperity. 

The  same  common  objects,  which  lie  at  the  foundation 
of  all  literary  societies,  the  suppression  of  vice,  the  promo- 
tion of  virtue,  and  the  cultivation  of  the  human  mind,  have 
ever  received  the  fostering  care  of  the  Delphian  Institute. 

Permit  me,  Sir,  in  behalf  of  the  members  of  that  Society, 
to  say,  that  they  have  ever  felt  a  lively  interest  in  the  cha- 
racter, reputation,  and  influence  of  the  Philomathean  Soci- 
ety ;  a  Society,  Sir,  which  has  added  more  to  human 
knowledge,  done  more  to  obviate  human  misery,  and  more 
to  promote  the  cause  of  humanity  and  justice,  perhaps,  than 
any  other  literary  society  in  the  country. 

In  whatever  point  of  view  we  may  contemplate  her  cha- 
racter, it  is  replete  with  interest  and  instruction.  Her  his- 
tory is  identified  with  that  of  Union  College,  and,  as  a  tri- 
bute of  respect,  it  is  due  to  her  to  say,  that  she  has  contri- 
buted largely  to  that  moral  and  intellectual  worth,  for 
which  that  noble  institution  has  so  long  been  distin- 
guished. 

That  she  may  ever  continue  in  her  prosperous  condition, 
is  my  most  fervent  wish.  As  it  is  not  my  purpose  to  delay 
the  proceedings  of  the  festival  by  speaking  at  length,  per- 


114  PHILOMATHEAN    CELEBRATION. 

mit  me,  Sir,  in  conclusion,  to  offer  you  the  following  senti- 
ment : 

The  Elder  Sister  of  our  noble  Trio,  ichose  semi-centennial  anniversary  we  have 
this  day  met  to  celebrate. 

SEVENTH    REGULAR    TOAST. 

Kindred  Societies  in  American  Colleges — Nurseries  of  eloquence — 
brightest  ornaments  of  their  respective  institutions. 

Rev.  John  Todd,  D.  D.,*  responded  to  this  toast  as  fol- 
lows : 

Mr.  President  : — Were  I  now  sitting  by  your  side,  in 
some  retired  nook  of  College,  and  were  I  on  terms  of  suffi- 
cient familiarity  with  you,  to  enter  into  conversation  in  a 
cozy  kind  of  way — yankee-like — I  should  begin  by  asking 
you  some  questions.  I  would  say,  do  you  remember  your 
feelings  on  your  first,  second,  and  subsequent  visits  to  your 
Alma  Mater?  How,  at  the  first  visit,  there  was  a  feeling 
of  sadness — the  walks  did  not  seem  to  own  you,  the  halls 
did  not  pour  out  the  old  familiar  faces — the  loved  voices 
were  not  to  be  heard,  and  it  seemed  as  if  strangers  had 
come  in  and  taken  possession  of  what  was  yours.  The 
exile  returned  only  to  feel  that  he  had  lost  his  possessions. 
"  Impius  haec  tam  culta  novalia  miles  habebit  ?"  How,  on 
the  second  visit,  the  feeling  of  strangeness  had  increased, 
and  the  fact  that  your  classmates  were  scattered,  never 
again  to  be  regathered  upon  earth,  forced  itself  upon 
your  notice ;  and  then  men  and  things  began  to  appear 
less  than  they  used  to  appear  !  And  on  subsequent  visits 
you  see  men  gather  with  locks  touched  by  the  frosts  of 
time,  who  once  seemed  to  be  so  far  from  age  that  you 


*Dr.  Todd,  and  also  Hon.  J.  C.  Spencer,  were,  by  some  unavoidable 
circumstances,  prevented  from  delivering  the  remai-ks  which  they  have 
kindly  written  out  for  publication. 


DINNER.  115 

never  dreamed  that  they  would  be  any  thing  but  young 
men — ardent,  aspiring,  confident,  and  full  of  hope  ! 

And  at  such  visits,  what  of  College  life  remains  distinct, 
clear,  full,  and  imperishable  7  What  are  the  visions  which 
pass  over  the  stage  where  memory  sits  down  to  watch 
them  ?  First  comes  the  form  of  the  President — the  high- 
est and  the  greatest  man  we  ever  saw  or  ever  expected  to 
see,  when  students.  We  see  him  as  he  used  to  preside — 
counsel,  guide,  enlighten,  by  his  great  experience,  win  by 
his  love,  and  charm  by  his  wisdom.  We  see  him  still — 
unaltered — save  that  time  hath  wrestled  with  him — the  first 
in  the  vision.  (In  regard  to  the  venerated  head  of  this  insti- 
tution— let  me  say,  in  passing,  that  he  hath  grown  no 
smaller  as  the  eye  of  the  beholder  has  dilated  and  taken  a 
wider  range.  His  evening  is  like  our  own  unequalled  au- 
tumns— soft  and  mild,  gentle  and  tender,  while  the  forest 
trees  put  off  the  green  of  summer,  and  seem  unconscious 
that  a  thousand  rainbows  have  broken  and  fallen  upon 
them ! 

"  0  milii  tarn  longae  maneat  pars  ultima  vitae."^ 

Next  in  the  train  come  the  teachers — each  with  his  own 
peculiarities  and  excellencies,  his  taste  and  zeal,  and  each 
feeling  an  honest  conviction  that  if  his  department  was 
faithfully  studied,  we  could  hardly  fail  of  making  men  ! 

Then,  Mr.  President,  would  come  forward  in  the  vision, 
the  youthful  orators  and  debaters  in  the  Literary  Societies 
of  our  College — would  they  not — just  as  they  used  to  meet 
and  deliberate,  with  a  gravity  that  would  honor  a  Roman 
Senate,  and  an  earnestness  that  could  hardly  be  surpassed, 
were  the  fate  of  an  empire  at  stake.  There  we  learned  the 
order,  the  decorum,  the  gravity,  and  the  etiquette  of  the 
deliberative  assembly.  Here  we  learned  the  usages  of  par- 
liament, and  to  bow  in  submission  to  the  decisions  of  the 


116  PHILOMATHEAN    CELEBRATION. 

chair.  Here  we  learned  to  scan  each  other,  to  measure 
each  other,  to  judge  of  proportions  of  character,  to  weigh 
evidence,  to  sift  argument,  to  reject  sophistries,  and,  what 
is  of  still  more  consequence,  to  measure  ourselves,  to  com- 
pare- ourselves  with  others,  and  thus  to  know  just  where 
our  place  was.  How  many  have  come  into  these  socities, 
not  having  a  doubt  but  their  gun  was  of  the  heaviest  cali- 
bre, the  longest  in  its  reach,  unrivalled  in  its  accuracy,  and 
the  deadliest  in  its  aim,  have  soon  found  it  to  be  a  mere 
pop-gun,  loaded  with  wind  and  wadding  only  !  Here  we 
learned  to  do  something  approaching  what  is  practical  in 
life — at  least  the  drill  and  the  handling  of  weapons  similar 
in  shape  and  kind  to  those  to  be  used  on  the  arena  of  life. 

If  I  am  not  misinformed.  Sir,  our  seminaries  of  education 
are  very  unlike  those  of  the  old  world.  Those  were  born 
in  other  ages — as  places  in  which  light  might  be  preserved, 
while  darkness  was  gathering  over  all  classes  of  society. 
They  were  to  be  the  receivers  of  light — not  the  dispensers 
— ^built  for  religious  houses,  in  which  monks  might  be 
gathered,  and  keep  the  taper  of  learning  from  going  entirely 
out.  They  gathered  into  them  a  few  tracts  in  manuscript, 
which  they  kept  chained,  lest  they  should  run  away. 
They  tell  us  of  the  antiquity  of  their  Universities.  Yes, 
but  what  were  they  ?  In  851,  ambassadors  were  sent  from 
France  to  Rome  to  beg  a  copy  of  Cicero  de  Oratore,  Gluin- 
tilian's  Institutes,  and  some  other  smaller  works,  because  a 
complete  copy  of  these  was  not  to  be  found  in  all  France. 
In  the  beginning  of  the  tenth  century,  a  single  copy  of  the 
Bible  had  to  serve  for  the  use  of  several  monasteries  in 
Spain.  The  convent  of  Rochetta  every  year  pronounced  a 
sentence  of  irrevocable  damnation  on  every  one  who  should 
dare  to  steal  a  copy  of  Aristotle,  or  even  to  obliterate  a  tit- 
tle !    Previous  to  the  year  1300,  the  library  of  the  Univer- 


DINNER.  117 

sity  of  Oxford,  (Eng.,)  contained  only  a  few  tracts,  which 
were  either  chained  or  carefully  locked  up  in  a  chest.  At 
the  commencement  of  the  fourteenth  century,  the  Royal 
Library  of  France  contained  only  four  classical  authors, 
and  a  few  devotional  works.  These  old  Universities  were 
papal  institutions,  transferred,  with  their  rust  and  rubbish 
all  gathered  in  them.  True,  they  have  now  immense 
libraries,  and  are  the  repositories  of  the  mind  of  past  gene- 
rations ;  but  it  is  covered  with  the  accumulations  of  ages 
also.  To  be  a  scholar  there,  you  must  have  your  private 
tutor  alone,  and  depend  upon  him  to  instruct  you,  and 
the  examination  to  test  your  scholarship.  But  our  Colla- 
ges were  formed  in  the  present  times,  and  for  them. 
They  take  the  mass  of  mind  that  comes  to  them,  and 
drill  and  discipline  it,  give  it  the  power  of  instructing 
itself,  and  show  it  what  tools  it  needs.  I  consider  the 
daily,  constant  drill  of  the  recitation  room,  to  be  the  great 
thing  that  gives  our  Colleges  their  power  and  efficiency. 
Nothing  can  supply  its  place. 

But  auxiliary  and  subsidiary  to  this,  comes  in  the  aid  of 
the  free,  voluntary,  literary  Societies  of  these  Colleges. 
They,  too,  fill  a  place  that  nothing  else  could.  If  faithfully 
and  punctually  attended,  if  they  have  a  good,  practical 
library  easy  of  access — if  they  draw  out  the  reasoning  pow- 
ers, rather  than  declamation — they  are  invaluable.  In 
after  life,  we  look  back  and  feel  that  there  we  began  life. 
There  we  took  first  and  important  lessons.  And  if  we 
look  back  and  call  up  the  things  in  College  life,  over  which 
our  regrets  are  deep  and  sincere — our  not  having  more 
faithfully  improved  the  advantages  of  these  societies,  will 
be  among  the  number. 

I  do  rejoice,  Mr.  President,  that  with  my  humble  powers, 

I  may  this  day  unite  with  the  gifted,  the  great,  and  the 

16 


118  PHILOMATHEAN    CELEBRATION. 

eloquentj  in  doing  honor  to  one  of  these  societies,  so  pecul- 
iar to  our  Colleges — so  congenial  to  the  form  of  our  govern- 
ment— so  improving  in  its  exercises,  and  so  lasting  in  its 
influence.  If  I  wanted  any  proof  of  the  correctness  of  the 
sentiment  with  which  I  had  the  honor  to  precede  these 
crude  remarks,  the  proof  would  be  before  us,  in  the  gather- 
ing of  so  much  that  is  intellectually  strong,  and  honorably 
useful — a  gathering  for  the  purpose  of  honoring  the  Society 
of  their  early  love.  Though  each  one  of  us  feels  sure  that 
he  graduated  at  the  best  College  in  the  land,  and  belonged 
to  the  only  really  good  class  that  ever  did  graduate,  and  to 
the  only  society  that  was  perfect  in  its  organization — yet 
our  charity  is  so  large,  that  we  can  afford  to  allow  others  a 
great  deal  of  commendation,  and  to  hail  all  similar  socie- 
ties as  sister  luminaries — ^bright  ornaments  to  their  institu- 
tions— ^the  nurseries  of  eloquence,  and  the  handmaids  of 
learning.  To  each  one  we  cordially  say,  macte  virtute  ! 
Esto  perpetua ! 

The  chairman  then  read  the  next  regular  toast,  introdu- 
cing it  with  these  remarks  : 

We  have  been  speaking  of  ourselves  and  our  sister  soci- 
eties, but  let  us  remember  something  is  also  due  to  Alma 
Mater.    I  give  you  the  following  sentiment : 

EIGHTH    REGULAR    TOAST. 

Union  College — Our  Society  rejoiced  at  her  birth — she  has  watched  her 
growth  with  interest — she  now  glories  in  her  fame. 

I  perceive  that  the  one  who  was  expected  to  reply  to 
this  toast  is  absent,  but  my  friend  on  my  left,  always 
ready  to  do  his  duty,  will  doubtless  give  us  a  response. 

Hon.  Bradford  R.  Wood,  being  thus  called  upon, 
spoke  as  follows : 

I  have  to  thank  you,  gentlemen,  for  the  very  kind  invi- 
tation which  fell  into  my  hands  this  morning,  to  attend 


DINNER.  119 

this  reunion.  I  thank  you,  also,  for  the  kindness  which 
has  substituted  me  in  the  place  of  another  gentleman,  who 
was  expected  to  reply  to  that  toast.  I  saw,  in  a  note  ap- 
pended to  the  card  of  invitation,  that  I  was  expected  to 
speak  after  dinner.  Now,  though  this  is  something  like  "no 
song,  no  supper,"  yet  I  am  willing  to  make  the  effort ;  but 
as  I  have  had  a  very  short  notice,  you  must  be  satisfied 
with  a  very  short  song.  I  would  not,  on  any  account,  in 
these  temperance  times,  suspect  that  it  is  with  us,  as  it  was 
wont  to  be  in  days  of  yore,  when  neither  the  guests  or  the 
speakers  themselves  could  remember  what  was  said.  As 
far  as  my  remarks  are  concerned,  for  myself  I  might  wish 
it  were  even  so  now.  Since  I  Avas  notified,  by  a  learned 
professor,  that  it  would  be  expected  of  me  to  respond  to  this 
toast,  I  have  been  informed  that  I  am  accused  of  having 
delivered,  last  evening,  a  very  radical  address,  and  it  has 
occurred  to  me,  that  he,  the  professor,  wished  to  entrap  me 
into  delivering  a  very  conservative  one  to-day.  Most  cor- 
dially, Sir,  do  I  respond  to  all  the  conservatism  implied  in 
that  toast  of  "  Union  College ;"  and  yet,  Sir,  I  am  fully 
conscious  of  my  inability  to  do  justice  to  the  distinguished 
sons  of  this  Institution,  to  its  more  distinguished  President, 
and  the  able  professors  who  have  made  it  what  it  is.  You 
know.  Sir,  as  well  as  myself,  the  various  elevated  positions 
in  which  the  members  of  this  Institution  have  been  and 
are  found.  In  the  desk,  at  the  bar,  on  the  bench,  in  the 
halls  of  legislation  and  of  science,  among  distinguished  au- 
thors, and  at  the  head  of  the  government.  There  is  no 
position  in  society  they  have  not  filled.  Now,  Sir,  it  is  not 
in  my  power  to  do  justice  to  such  an  array  of  distinguished 
worth.  There  is  a  weight  of  honor  implied  in  that  toast, 
for  which  I  am  wholly  incompetent.  But  I  can.  Sir,  speak 
of  the  practical  character  and  good  feeling  which  I  have 


120  PHILOMATHEAN    CELEBRATION* 

ever  found  among  the  sons  of  Old  Union.  And  wherever 
found,  whether  North  or  South,  in  the  private  walks  of  life 
or  on  the  political  arena,  there  was  a  bond  of  fellowship 
among  her  sons,  which  softened  much  of  the  asperity  of 
unavoidable  earthly  conflict. 

The  very  organization  of  this  Institution,  the  catholic 
spirit  in  which   it  commenced   and  has  been  sustained, 
knowing  no  religious  sect  or  party,  has  insured  for  it  no 
small  measure  of  usefulness  and  success  ;  and  the  sending 
forth  from  such  a  seat  of  learning  young  men  thus  liberal- 
ized, is  doing  untold  good.     But,  gentlemen,  permit  me  to 
call  your  attention  to  another  "  union,"  in  whose  affairs  a 
crisis  is  coming,  and  around,  and  through,  and  over  which  a 
conflict  is  impending,  that  calls  for  all  our  moral  and  intel- 
lectual powers.     In  that  conflict,  where  will  the   sons  of 
Union  College  be  found  ?     Who  are  the  men  among  you, 
who  will  then  stand  forth  and  do  battle  for  the  true,  the 
right,  and  the  free  ?    I  trust,  gentlemen,  that  there  are 
among  you  those,  who,  in  that  respect,  will  do  far  more 
honor  to  this  Institution,  than  any  who  have  preceded  you, 
and  who  will  meet  that  crisis,  and  that  conflict,  in  such  a 
manner  as  will  reflect  honor  on  their  Alma  Mater. 

In  closing,  permit  me  to  give  the  name  of  a  member  of 
this  Society  now  providentially  absent.     I  give  you — 

John  Savage,  Ex-Chief  Justice  of  this  State — The  able 
jurist,  the  incorruptible  judge,  the  honest  man. 

The  chairman  then  offered  the 

NINTH    REGULAR    TOAST. 

Dr.  Eliphalet  Nott,  the  beloved  and  venerated  President  of  Union  Col- 
lege— Serus  in  ccelum  redeas. 

Ill  health  preventing  Dr.  Nott  from  gratifying  the  de- 
sire he  had  expressed  of  being  present  upon  this  occasion, 


DINNER.  121 

Rev.  C.  C.  CuYLER,  D.  D.,  who  was  a  member  of  College 
at  the  time  of  Dr.  Nott's  election  to  the  Presidency,  there- 
fore responded  as  follows : 

Mr.  President  : — As  I  lise  upon  the  present  occasion, 
my  thoughts  are  at  once  carried  back  to  my  early  years,  to 
the  time  when,  with  what  early  instruction  I  had  received 
from  my  father,  I  came  to  this  city  as  a  student.  Here  I 
enjoyed  the  privileges  of  academic  instruction  under  teach- 
ers, whose  names^probably  unknown  to  most  of  you — are 
still  fresh  in  my  memory,  associated  with  pleasing  and 
grateful  recollections  ;  for  they  were  teachers,  kind,  faith- 
ful, and  efficient — whom  it  is  a  privilege  to  mention  on 
this  occasion,  as  a  tribute  of  respect  justly  due  to  their 
memories.  They  were  Luther  Halsey,  Col.  Taylor,  and 
Henry  P.  Wyckoflf.  My  academic  course  having  been 
completed  in  1803,  I  entered  Union  College,  and  became  a 
member  of  the  Philomath ean  Society.  Dr.  Maxcy  was 
then  President,  but  he  was  soon  succeeded  by  the  venera- 
ted man,  whom  the  sentiment  to  which  you  have  called 
upon  me  to  respond,  is  designed  to  honor. 

Great  was  the  curiosity  and  anxiety  with  which  we 
watched  the  course  of  the  new  President.  We  soon  dis- 
covered that  the  government  and  management  of  College 
had  fallen  into  efficient  hands.  New  arrangements  were 
introduced  into  every  department  Avith  such  strictness,  that 
the  word  "  blue-laws"  not  unfrequently  escaped  the  lips  of 
the  students.  But  there  was  no  resistance  nor  rebellion  ; 
for  while  they  complained  of  the  comparative  severity, 
they  could  but  acknowledge  the  justice  and  salutary  effect 
of  the  new  regulations.  A  new  energy  was  infused  through 
the  institution,  and  a  progress  begun,  which  has  steadily 
continued  during  the  long  period  of  forty-five  years — a  pe- 
riod unparalleled  in  the  history  of  our  literary  institutions 


122  PHILOMATHEAN   CELEBRATION. 

— during  which  Dr.  Nott  has  presided  over  it.  To  him 
Union  College  is  indebted  for  her  present  proud  position 
and  enviable  reputation.  Many  there  are,  now  occupying 
stations  of  honor  and  influence  in  the  world,  who  attribute 
much  of  their  success  in  life  to  his  counsel  and  instructions. 
To  him  I  owe  much  ;  his  lessons  of  wisdom  and  caution 
I  have  found  of  use  to  me  in  the  world ;  and  in  common 
with  all  who  have  enjoyed  the  same  privileges,  I  ever 
think  of  him,  not  with  respect  merely,  but  also  with  grati- 
tude and  affection.  Most  cordially,  then,  do  I  respond  to 
the  sentiment  you  have  read. 

Permit  me  also  to  acknowledge  my  obligations  to  the 
Philomathean  Society,  for  the  advantages  it  afforded  me  in 
my  collegiate  course,  and  to  express  my  satisfaction  in 
view  of  the  cheering  evidences  I  have  seen  to-day,  of  its 
increased  usefulness  and  prosperity.  I  have  in  my  hand 
the  badge  of  the  Society  which  I  wore  when  I  was  an  act- 
ing member.  (It  was  a  belt  of  blue  silk,  to  which  was  at- 
tached a  silver  plate,  on  which  were  engraved  the  name  and 
motto  of  the  Society.  It  was  worn  over  the  right  shoulder 
and  under  the  left  arm,  so  that  the  plate  rested  on  the  left 
breast.)  I  was  proud  to  wear  it  then,  and  (putting  it  on)  I 
am  proud  to  wear  it  now,  and  thus  to  testify  my  respect 
and  affection  for  the  Philomathean. 

The  chairman  then  gave  the 

TENTH    REGULAR    TOAST. 

The  students  of  Paris,  Vienna,  and  Berlin — True  sons  of  science  are 
ever  the  friends  of  Liberty. 

He  added — "  I  have  the  name  of  a  gentleman  who  was 
to  respond  to  this  toast,  but  I  do  not  see  him  in  the  room  ; 
perhaps  he  has  dodged  ;  but  I  see  another,  who  has  visited 
the  celebrated  literary  institutions  of  those  places,  whose 


^DINNER.  123 

writings  you  have  all  read,  and  of  whom  I  might  say  a 
great  many  pretty  things,  but  they  may  be  summed  up 
in  this :  he  too  is  a  son  of  science  and  the  friend  of  liberty. 

Rev.  J.  T.  Headly,  being  thus  called  upon,  responded 
as  follows : 

I  too  might  also  have  dodged^  if  I  had  been  notified  be- 
forehand that  I  was  to  respond  to  that  toast.  Still  I 
believe  in  the  sentiment  it  contains.  Students,  in  every 
age,  have  always  been  the  first  to  rally  on  the  side  of  free- 
dom, the  first  to  sympathise  with  the  oppressed,  the  first  to 
sacrifice  themselves  for  the  good  of  their  country.  I  once 
saw  the  King  of  Sardinia,  (who  by  the  way  is  the  basest 
king  that  occupies  a  European  throne,  and  of  whom,  not- 
withstanding his  present  pretensions,  the  friends  of  liberty 
may  say,  "  Thneo  Daiiaos  et  dona  ferentes^''')  pass  the 
University  of  Genoa,  and  while  the  populace  were  doing 
him  homage,  receive  nothing  but  silent  contempt  from  the 
students.  As  the  royal  oppressor  walked  by  the  porch,  the 
young  men  coolly  turned  their  backs  upon  him,  and  kept 
their  hats  upon  their  heads.  I  might  speak  of  the  French 
revolution  of  1 830,  and  describe  the  students  of  the  poly- 
technic school  marching  into  the  house  of  Lafayette,  gath- 
ering around  the  gray  haired  chieftain,  and  receiving  from 
him  their  last  instructions,  go  forth  to  lay  down  their  lives 
for  their  country.  While  the  alarm  drum  was  beating,  the 
tocsin  sounding,  and  explosions  of  cannon  were  shaking 
the  city,  those  students  were  seen  leading  the  people  on  to 
victory.  I  might  speak  of  the  students  of  the  University  of 
Pavia,  "  always  ready  to  die  in  defence  of  liberty."  When 
the  shout  of  freedom  first  arose  from  Rome,  after  the  coro- 
nation of  Pius  the  Ninth,  these  young  men  answered  it, 
and  the  streets  of  Pavia  were  crimsoned  with  their  blood. 
I  might  point  to  the  students  of  Vienna  and  Berlin;  indeed 


124  PHILOMATHEAN   CELEBRATION. 

of  almost  every  University  of  Germany,  who  have  stood 
foremost  in  the  recent  revolution  which  has  shaken  Europe 
to  its  centre ;  but  you  are  familiar  with  the  history  of  these 
events.  A  volume  might  be  written  on  this  subject — I  will 
only  ask,  When  have  students  refused  to  be  allies  of  the 
people  in  a  struggle  for  liberty  ? 

If  I  had  been  notified  of  the  part  I  was  to  take  in  this 
celebration,  I  would  have  gone  somewhat  into  details — giv- 
en historical  facts  which  would  have  been  worthy  of  every 
thoughtful  man's  consideration,  and  presented  institutions 
of  learning  in  a  different  phasis  from  that  in  which  they 
have  been  usually  contemplated. 

There  are  two  causes  tending  to  produce  this  love  of 
freedom  in  students.  In  the  first  place,  literature  itself  en- 
nobles the  heart  as  well  as  expands  the  intellect.  It  is  full 
of  lessons  of  virtue.  To  resist  oppression — to  defend  the 
weak — to  die,  if  need  be,  for  the  right — these  are  the  les- 
sons it  teaches.  The  learner's  heart  kindles  over  the  glo- 
rious deeds  of  brave  men  battling  for  their  country— the 
poets  of  olden  times  sing  to  him  of  liberty,  and  he  is  taught 
to  despise  the  calculations  of  selfishness,  and  abhor  that 
tyranny  which  would  rob  the  innocent  and  helpless. 

In  the  second  place,  professors  are  distinguished  for  their 
disregard  of  mere  outward  distinctions,  and  their  high  ap- 
preciation of  what  constitutes  the  true  MAN.  The  les- 
sons they  inculcate  are  those  of  virtue,  of  noble  ambition, 
of  patriotism.  Hence,  to  the  teachers  in  our  i'nstitutions, 
students  owe  much  of  that  generous  impulse  and  noble 
sympathy  which  make  them  the  friends  of  freedom.  All 
honor  to  them. 

I  have  but  a  single  remark  to  make  further.  We  are 
allowed  to  boast  a  little,  and  to  believe  that  our  Alma  Ma- 
ter is  the  best  in  the  world.    The  pecuHarity  of  Union  Col" 


DINNER.  125 

lege,  it  appears  to  me  as  I  move  around  in  the  world,  is 
this  : — it  makes  the  students  practical  men,  and  hence,  like 
'  the  Universities  of  Germany,  fits  them  to  take  an  active 
part  in  life,  and  gives  them  practical  power,  whenever  their 
assistance  is  needed.  There  is  nothing  more  common  than 
to  find  men  of  science  deficient  in  practical  education ; 
consequently  they  disappear  before  men  of  the  world. 
People  will  not  wait  for  those  who  have  not  the  spirit  of 
the  age  in  which  they  live,,  in  them.  The  mere  scholar  is 
perhaps  the  hardest  to  move  from  fixed  reverence  to  old 
things.  Men  sent  forth  from  this  College  are  not  such. 
They  are  not  like  one  lost  in  the  forest,  who  moves  perpe- 
tually round  in  a  circle.  They  start,  like  Minerva  from  the 
head  of  Jupiter,  all  armed  in  panoply,  and  this  has  given 
occasion  sometimes  for  persons  to  accuse  us  of  not  furnish- 
ing thorough  scholars.  We  seem  too  practical,  and  smell 
more  of  the  bustle  of  life  than  of  the  seclusion  of  the  clois- 
ter. Now,  Sir,  when  men  Avere  required  to  talk  in  Latin, 
that  was  a  practical  advantage  of  a  certain  kind ;  definite 
terms  were  needed  in  metaphysical  philosophy,  and  a  com- 
mon language  for  the  learned  of  every  nation  was  called 
for.  At  all  events,  custom  made  this  show  of  scholarship 
necessary.  But  in  this  age  it  would  be  folly  to  seek  the 
kind  of  education  they  sought  then.  We  might  speak  in 
Latin,  but  no  one  would  listen  to  us — we  might  spend  our 
time  in  Academic  groves,  discussing  ancient  philosophic 
subtleties,  but  all  the  great  events  of  life  Avould  come  and 
go  without  feeling  our  influence.  The  world  needs,  and 
must  have  the  aid  of  the  practical^  not  the  dreamy  scholar 
— the  educated  man^  not  the  mere  bibliopole. 

I  have  seen  students  who  reminded  me  of  an  incident  in 
Dickens'  "  Dombey  and  Son."     Old  Capt.  Cuttle,  a  simple 

minded,  honest,  kind  hearted  sailor,  loved  a  lad  named 

17 


126  PHILOMATHEAN   CELEBRATION. 

Walter.  When  the  youth  went  to  sea^  the  Captain  accom- 
panied him  to  the  ship,  and  with  a  tear  stealing  down  his 
weather-beaten  cheek,  bade  him  good  bye,  and  puUing  an 
immense  silver  watch  from  his  pocket,  (which,  as  Dickens 
says,  made  a  noise  very  much  like  pulling  the  bung  from 
a  barrel,)  gave  it  to  him,  saying,  "  take  this,  Walter,  and 
put  it  forward  half  an  hour  every  morning,  and  a  qarter 
every  arternoon,  and  it  is  a  watch  that  will  do  you  credit." 
Now  this  might  well  apply  to  a  great  many  learned  men  : 
■ — if  you  would  only  put  them  forward  a  half  an  hour  ev- 
ery morning  and  a  quarter  every  evening,  they  would  do 
you  and  themselves  great  credit.  But  I  have  never  seen 
students  of  Union  College  that  wanted  putting  forward  to 
do  the  College  credit,  and  I  attribute  it  to  the  instruction 
they  receive  tending  to  make  them  practical  men. 

In  conclusion,  I  give — "  The  Faculty  of  Union  College^ 

Prof  Foster,  being  repeatedly  called  upon  from  all 
parts  of  the  room,  rose  and  said  : 

I  rise,  Mr.  President,  to  protest  against  the  usage  I 
am  receiving.  An  assembly  like  this  reminds  one  of  the 
reunion  of  a  family  on  a  Thanksgiving  or  New  Year, 
after  a  long  separation.  After  years  of  business,  we  gather 
here,  and  meet  around  the  festive  board  of  our  old  home- 
stead. For  me,  now,  to  occupy  your  time,  would  be  like 
a  young  stripling,  who  has  never  travelled  beyond  the 
bounds  of  his  paternal  acres,  monopolizing  to  himself  the 
conversation,  describing  what  new  appearances  were  visi- 
ble, and  what  fine  buildings  had  been  recently  constructed. 
I  apprehend  that,  though  common  politeness,  or  possibly 
family  pride,  would  suffer  him  to  proceed,  yet  there  would 
be  a  terrible  thinking,  and  a  very  general  feeling  that  if  a 
few  more  years  were  on  his  head,  or  a  few  more  brains  in 


DINNER.  127 

it,  he  might  have  learned  that  older  and  wiser  heads 
should  occupy  the  time.  I  am  determined,  therefore,  not 
to  be  seduced  into  such  a  youthful  and  palpable  impro- 
priety. 

ELEVENTH    REGULAR    TOAST. 
The  Constitution  of  the  United  States — The  magna  charta  of  the  world. 

The  reply  to  this  toast  was  made  by  Hon.  John  C. 
Spencer : 

I  have  been  requested  by  your  committee,  gentlemen  of 
the  Philomathean  Society,  to  make  some  observations  upon 
this  toast,  and  my  desire  to  promote,  by  any  means  in  my 
power,  the  prosperity  of  a  Society  to  which  I  belonged 
and  was  warmly  attached,  when  a  member  of  Union  Col- 
lege, prompts  me  to  comply  with  your  request. 

The  spirit  which  dictated  this  sentiment,  is  inost  com- 
mendable. It  is  antagonist  to  anarchy,  and  acknowledges 
the  principle  of  submission  to  a  supreme  law,  established 
for  the  security  of  a  community  of  freemen.  It  admits  that 
liberty  cannot  exist  without  law.  The  acknowledgment 
of  this  fundamental  axiom,  by  young  men  of  your  intelli- 
gence, at  a  time  when  restraint  is  called  tyranny,  and 
licentiousness  is  identified  with  freedom,  is  refreshing,  and 
invigorates  hope  for  the  future. 

It  is  an  American  spirit,  and  is  the  key  to  that  mystery 
of  mysteries  which  so  perplexes  the  political  philosophers 
of  Europe,  namely,  how  it  is  possible  to  reconcile  so  much 
liberty  with  so  much  order.  In  order  to  enjoy  our  liberty, 
we  set  bounds  to  it,  in  humble  imitation  of  the  economy  of 
Providence,  which  prescribes  the  universal  rule  that  safety, 
life,  and  happiness  are  to  be  preserved  only  by  moderation, 
which  fixes  limits  to  enjoyment.  This  rule,  when  applied 
to  political  science,  is  sustained  by  another  of  pure  justice, 


128  PHILOMATHEAN    CELEBRATION. 

namely,  that  no  one  shall  be  restrained  by  law  more  than 
another,  and  that  no  other  restraint  upon  individual  liberty 
shall  be  imposed,  than  such  as  is  necessary  to  protect  the 
rights  of  each.  The  more  you  reflect  upon  this  rule,  the 
more  will  you  be  satisfied  that  it  presents  the  true  and  ex- 
act limit  of  legislation  ia  a  democratic  government.  You 
must  not  steal  your  neighbor's  property,  you  must  not  in- 
jure his  person  or  his  feelings,  because  your  neighbor  has 
the  same  right  to  the  enjoyment  of  his  acquisitions,  to  the 
security  of  his  person,  and  to  the  pursuit  of  happiness,  that 
you  have  ;  and  you  have  the  same  right  that  he  possesses, 
but  no  more.  Your  mutual  security  and  happiness  require 
that  you  should  both  stop  at  the  line  which  separates  me- 
um  from  tuum.  When  the  deposed  Dey  of  Algiers,  living 
in  Europe,  wished  to  cut  off"  the  heads  of  two  servants  who 
had  offended  him  by  some  trivial  indiscretion,  and  was  told 
that  such  a  practice  would  not  be  allowed,  and  that  he 
would  endanger  his  own  head  by  indulging  his  wish,  he 
expressed  the  utmost  surprise,  and  enquired  whether  he 
was  not  in  a  land  of  liberty  ?  This  was  precisely  the  op- 
posite of  your  idea ; — he  would  have  liberty  without  reci- 
procity— in  other  words,  liberty  without  law,  which  secures 
and  enforces  reciprocity. 

It  was  this  great,  sublime,  and  yet  simple  principle, 
founded  upon  the  inspired  rule  of  doing  to  others  what  you 
may  justly  require  them  to  do  to  you,  that  guided  our  illus- 
trious forefathers  in  the  establishment  of  that  body  of  pow- 
ers, checks,  restraints,  and  limitations,  called  the  constitu- 
tion of  our  country.  The  application  of  the  principle  to 
the  individual  free  citizen,  was  not  attended  with  much 
difficulty.  But  when  they  came  to  deal  with  the  organized 
communities  that  had  been  fortuitously  formed  into  Prov- 
inces and  States,  with  adverse  interests,  and  with  more 


DINNER, 


129i 


adverse  prejudices ; — ^when  the  pride  of  local  sovereignty 
was  to  be  humbled  and  circumscribed,  then  commenced  a 
task  more  difficult  than  had   ever  been  encountered  by 
human  intellect.     Some  States  were  so  feeble  as  only  to 
offer  a  temptation  to  their  powerful  neighbors  to  trample  on 
and  despise  them ;  others  were  so  situated,  locally,  that 
they  were  mere   dependants  for  trade  upon  the  forbear- 
ance of  rivals ;  it  was  the  business  of  the  Convention  to 
make  the  weak  strong,  and  the  strong  weak,  and  to  place 
all  upon  the  same  level.     Among  the  adverse  interests  and 
prejudices,  that  which  was  the  most  difficult  of  adjustment, 
grew  out  of  the  monstrous  abuse  which  had  been  converted 
into  a  legal  right — property  in  a  human  being.     On  one 
side  were  deep  religious  feehng,  intense  sympathy,  and  the 
very  fundamental  principle  on  which  the  government  was 
to  be  constituted — equality  of  political  rights  among  im- 
mortal bemgs.     On  the  other  side  were  inveterate  prejudi- 
ces— the  utter  destruction  of  the  property  and  means  of 
subsistence  of  the  people  who  then  constituted  a  majority 
of  the  States,  and  what  was  far  more  formidable,  honest, 
and  probably  well   founded   apprehensions   that   the  im- 
mediate emancipation  of  the  slaves  would  jeopard  the  very 
existence  of  the  whites.     History  affords  no  parallel  to  the 
awful  fearfulness  of  this  question.     It  mixed  itself  with 
every  proposition  that  had  any  bearing  upon  the  powers, 
rights,  and   relative  weight  of  the  States   in  the   federal 
councils.     For  weeks  and  months  had  the  Convention  de- 
bated and  discussed  these  propositions,  without  coming  to 
any   conclusion.     The   prospect  was    dark,   dreary,   and 
almost  desperate.     Disruption,  commotion,  and  war  and  all 
its   horrible   evils,    seemed   inevitable.     Finally  Franklin 
arose,  and  reminding  the  assembly  how  fruitless  had  been 
their  search  for  political  wisdom  among  human  institutions, 


130  PHILOMATHEAN   CELEBRATION. 

ancient  and  modern,  solemnly  asked,  "  How  has  it  hap- 
pened, that  we  have  not  hitherto  once  thought  of  applying 
to  the  Father  of  light,  to  illuminate  our  understandings  ? 
If,"  said  he,  a  sparrow  cannot  fall  to  the  ground  without 
his  notice,  is  it  possible  that  an  empire  can  arise  without 
his  aid  ?"  The  very  reference  to  a  superintending  Provi- 
dence, and  to  the  responsibility  of  the  members  of  the  Con- 
vention, seems  to  have  had  its  proper  influences — for  there- 
after we  find  their  proceedings  more  harmonious. 

Under  the  blessing  of  heaven,  these  difficulties  were 
overcome ;  and  the  principles  tipon  which  they  were  ar- 
ranged, are  worthy  of  our  special  consideration  at  this 
time.  The  members  seem  to  have  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  mortals,  however  gifted  and  patriotic,  could  not  arrest 
the  course  of  nature — that  they  could  not  change  the  con- 
dition of  society,  or  the  nature  of  men — that  they  could  not 
make  a  new  world,  but  must  deal  with  the  one  they  were 
in,  as  they  found  it ;  but  yet  that  they  could  shape  laws 
and  institutions  so  as  to  bring  about,  at  a  time  not  very 
distant,  those  consequences,  which,  in  the  then  state  of 
affairs,  were  utterly  impracticable.  They  would  not  ven- 
ture, like  some  of  our  recent  philosophists,  upon  the  experi- 
ment of  remodelling  society — but  with  becoming  modesty, 
were  content  to  plant  principles,  which  would  be  sure  to 
germinate,  grow,  and  expand  like  the  mustard  tree,  until 
it  shadowed  the  whole  country.  The  different  sides  were 
too  patriotic  to  insist  on  their  extreme  views,  and  thus  to 
minister  to  their  own  pride  of  opinion,  at  the  expense  of  all 
that  was  dear  to  themselves  and  their  constituents.  They 
were  patriots — not  demagogues.  They  submitted  to  exist- 
ing evils  which  could  not  be  eradicated  by  human  power, 
trusting  that  time,  with  the  advance  of  liberal  knowledge 
and  opinion,  which  they  foresaw  as  the  inevitable  result  of 


tUNNER.  131 

their  work,  would  do  more  than  authority  or  obstinacy. 
They  compromised — each  yielded  something  of  peculiar 
interests  ;  and  principle,  in  the  case  of  slavery,  was  vindi- 
cated so  far  as  the  power  of  the  federal  government  could 
be  extended,  by  authorizing  Congress  to  prohibit  the  import- 
ation of  slaves  at  a  fixed  period.  Farther  they  could  not 
proceed,  consistent  with  the  principle  of  State  sovereignty, 
in  respect  to  municipal  laws,  which  the  Constitution  itself 
established.  The  result  was,  a  union,  instead  of  a  confed- 
eracy of  the  States.  Sixty  years  of  national  prosperity, 
amid  perilous  dangers  from  intestine  divisions,  with  three 
foreign  wars,  and  when  political  earthquakes  have  rocked 
the  nations  of  Europe — have  attested  the  wisdom  and  the 
sound,  far-seeing  patriotism  of  that  glorious  band  who 
sent  forth  from  Independence  Hall  the  inestimable  Consti- 
tution which  your  toast  commemorates. 

Much  and  justly  as  we  admire  and  wonder  at  the  forti- 
tude, patience,  and  bravery,  of  those  who  resisted  the  en- 
croachments of  the  British  Parliament ; — fervently  as  we 
applaud,  and  gratefully  as  we  acknowledge  the  privations, 
the  sacrifices  and  the  devotion  of  life,  in  our  long  revolu- 
tionary struggle,  yet  we  cannot  but  acknowledge,  that  when 
it  was  ended,  the  work  was  not  half  completed.  A  new 
people  was  born  into  the  world — but  it  was  not  a  nation. 
That  had  yet  to  be  formed — -and  those  who  had  conquered 
the  British  legions,  had  a  far  more  difficult  labor  to  perform 
• — they  had  to  conquer  themselves.  The  thirteen  separate 
sovereignties  had  none  but  centrifugal  forces  ; — the  contin- 
uance of  their  very  existence  demanded  that  the  centripe- 
tal force  should  be  given  them.  It  was  done,  and  they 
have  been  kept  in  their  orbits. 

My  purpose,  in  this  sketch  of  the  labors  of  the  Conven- 
tion, has  been,  not  so  much  to  record  the  great  and  unap- 


132         PHILOMATBEAN  CELEBRATION. 

preciable  merits  of  its  members,*  as  to  excite  your  attention 
to  the  principles  by  which  they  were  guided,  and  to  their 
conduct  in  the  application  of  those  principles.  To  an  hon- 
est and  ingenuous  mind,  a  single  principle  involving  the 
interests  of  humanity,  assumes  an  importance  and  a  mag- 
nitude which  absorb  our  sympathies  and  cast  into  shade 
other  principles  not  less  important.  We  do  not  stop  to  ex- 
amine the  bearing  of  our  favorite  dogma  upon  other  vital 
maxims,  nor  to  study  their  mutual  relations.  This  is  ob- 
viously contrary  to  sound  reason  in  any  department  of  sci- 
ence, intellectual,  moral,  or  physical ;  but  particularly  in 
the  affairs  of  life  and  in  the  science  of  government,  which 
is  in  its  nature  practical,  and  not  theoretical,  these 
antagonist  interests  and  principles,  are  as  much  op- 
posed as  the  centripetal  and  centrifugal  forces  that 
keep  the  planets  in  motion ;  and  regularity,  order,  and 
success  are  to  be  attained,  not  by  yielding  absolute 
sway  to  any  one  of  these  principles,  interests  or  for- 
ces, but  by  the  combination  of  the  whole,  securing  the 
mutual  reaction  of  each  upon  the  other.  This  was  emi- 
nently the  policy  of  the  framers  of  our  constitution,  and  to 
that  policy  is  to  be  attributed  the  success  hitherto  of  our 
experiment. 

It  is  this  policy  which  I  would  commend  to  you.  and  to 
all  our  fellow-citizens,  as  indicating  with  all  the  certainty 
that  can  be  predicated  of  human  contrivance,  the  safe 
channel  by  which  our  country  can  be  conducted  through 
the  shoals,  quicksands,  breakers,  and  rocks,  that  threaten 
her  on  either  side.  I  counsel  not  the  abandonment  of  any 
principle,  but  I  urge,  as  a  duty  as  well  as  sound  poUcy, 
that  in  maintaining  it,  the  same  respect  for  the  principles, 
interests,  opinions,  and  even  prejudices  of  others,  be  ob- 
served, that  you  claim  for  your  own. 


DINNER.  133 

You,  my  friends,  will  soon  occupy  positions  in  Society, 
where  the  influence  of  your  opinions  and  your  example 
will  be  felt,  and  probably  more  extensively  than  you  can 
now  calculate.  Public  sentiment  is  the  real  law  of  this 
country.  Constitutions  and  statutes  are  but  cobwebs  in 
opposition  to  it.  However  unpalatable  or  humiliating  it 
may  be,  it  is  nevertheless  an  undeniable  truth.  It  would  be 
easy  to  enumerate  instances  of  palpable  violations  of  our 
Constitution,  knowingly  committed  in  obedience  to  a  nearly 
universal  public  opinion.  And  you  need  not  be  told  how 
many  of  our  statutes  are  worse  than  dead  letters.  The 
reason  is,  that  our  government  is  that  of  the  people,  and 
this  sovereign  may  trample  upon  powers,  compacts,  laws, 
and  constitutions,  with  as  little  remorse  as  any  single  des- 
pot of  the  old  world.  And  the  explanation  of  our  having 
escaped  from  more  numerous  instances  of  despotic  tyranny, 
is  that  in  the  union  a  sound,  honest  public  sentiment  has 
been  maintained,  nearly  up  to  the  level  of  our  Constitutions. 
Let  not  this  picture  dishearten  you,  or  diminish  your  confi- 
dence in  free  institutions,  and  in  the  republican  principle. 
For,  after  all,  there  is  less  danger  of  abuses  by  large  mass- 
es— ^by  the  whole  people,  or  by  large  majorities  of  them, 
than  by  single  despots,  or  by  an  oligarchy ;  and  there  is 
more  certainty  of  reform  and  return  to  sound  principle  by 
those  who  are  sure  to  be  the  suflerers  from  irregularities 
and  excesses,  than  by  the  few  whose  position  exempts 
them  from  the  common  lot.  But  rather  let  the  reflections 
which  these  views  may  awaken,  stimulate  your  exertions 
to  inform  the  public  mind,  to  keep  it  sound  and  intelligent, 
to  prevent  it  from  running  to  extremes,  to  moderate  its  ten- 
dency to  impulsive  movement,  and  to  sustain  it  by  the 
constant  exhibition  of  those  eternal  principles  of  truth  and 

righteousness,  which  have  been  revealed  to  us,  and  which 

18 


134  PHILOMATHEAN   CELEBRATION. 

we  are  told  from  an  indisputable  authority,  only  can  "  ex- 
alt a  Nation." 

TWELFTH    REGULAR    TOAST. 
The  Philomatheans  of  former  days — They  are  welcome  to  their  ancient 
home. 

Rev.  Henry  P.  Tappan,  being  called  upon,  responded 
as  follows  : 

Mr.  President  : — You,  Sir,  one  of  the  founders  of  the 
Philomathean  Society,  and  its  oldest  surviving  member, 
from  your  heart — a  heart,  whose  fine  and  generous  sym- 
pathies age  has  only  ripened,  not  quenched — you  can  re- 
spond to  this  sentiment.  In  framing  the  words  of  this 
response,  I  feel  that  I  am  speaking  in  behalf  of  all  the  Philo" 
matheans  of  former  days — that  their  united  spirit  is  flowing 
through  my  heart — that  I  am,  at  this  moment,  speaking 
under  the  inspiration  of  a  venerable  presence  which  seems 
to  collect  here  all  our  past  history.  You,  who  were  pres- 
ent at  the  dawning  of  our  day,  are  now  here  when  our  sun 
hath  risen  high  in  the  heavens ;  and  voices  then  unborn 
welcome  you  as  the  first-born,  and  us  of  a  later  date  as  old- 
er brothers.  We  have  met  together  in  our  ancient  home. 
We  have  met  at  the  call  of  our  younger  brothers,  who,  still 
at  home,  while  we  have  .been  wandering  up  and  down  in 
the  world,  have  invited  us  to  come  and  see  once  more  the 
old  familiar  places,  renew  old  associations,  exchange  heart- 
felt salutations,  and  eat  with  them  a  thanksgiving  dinner. 

When  this  invitation  reached  us,  our  hearts  at  once  said, 
it  is  worthy  of  our  brothers  who  keep  the  old  homestead, 
thus  to  call  us  back  ;  and  it  is  fit  that  we  should  go  and 
do  honor  to  the  Lares  who  early  protected  and  cherished 
us,  and  whose  influence  has  followed  us  through  life. 


DINNER.  135 

Half  a  century  has  passed  away  since  our  house  was 
founded.  Since  then  many  spacious  additions  have  been 
made  to  it,  and  much  store  of  good  and  choice  things  col- 
lected. Its  grounds  also  have  been  extended  and  embel- 
lished. The  trees  early  planted  have  grown  up  to  become 
the  tall  monarchs  of  the  forest.  There  are  gushing  foun- 
tains, beautiful  walks  and  groves — fit  haunts  of  the  muses. 
This  progress  in  all  that  elevates,  refines  and  adorns,  it  is 
grateful  to  contemplate. 

And  when  we  entered  this  festal  hall,  so  well  arranged, 
and  so  tastefully  adorned ;  when  we  read  these  inscriptions 
upon  the  walls ;  when  we  looked  around  upon  these  glow- 
ing and  happy  faces ; — many  and  holy  were  the  remem- 
brances and  associations  that  were  called  up ; — the  beauti- 
ful past,  and  the  beautiful  present  were  wedded  together. 

The  influence  of  such  a  scene  is  like  that  of  music 
heard  once  more,  which,  in  our  early  youth,  coming  from 
lips  that  we  loved,  awakened  a  delight  which  has  left  its 
immortal  traces  in  our  minds  ;  and  which,  now  revived, 
brings  along  with  it  the  image  of  cherished  scenes  with  all 
the  beauty  and  kindness,  and  every  thing  dear  and  sacred, 
by  which  they  were  hallowed.  Many  brothers  have  gone 
forth  from  this  spot  into  the  wide  world.  But  they  have 
not  all  returned  to-day.  Some  are  unavoidably  detained. 
Some  have  finished  their  race  on  earth.  The  memory  of 
the  dead  saddens,  but,  at  the  same  time,  hallows  and  gives 
dignity  to  our  festivities.  We  who  have  come  together 
thank  om-  younger  brothers  for  their  invitation,  and  for  all 
the  arrangements  and  hospitalities  which  have  made  our 
meeting  so  convenient,  so  agreeable,  and  so  full  of  lofty  in- 
spirations. Noble  spirits  have  honored  our  house :  noble 
spirits  possess  it  now.  We  cannot  but  cherish  the  hope 
that  it  will  ever  be  the  abode  of  Virtue,  Science,  and 


136  PHILOMATHEAN   CELEBRATION. 

Friendship.  Did  I  yield  to  my  feelings,  I  might  say 
much  more.  But  I  have  occupied  your  attention  long 
enough  this  day,  in  the  honorable  and  the  pleasant  duty  I 
was  called  to  perform.  Permit  me,  therefore,  to  give,  in 
conclusion — 

The  Acting  Members  of  the  Philomathean  Society — ^Wor- 
thy successors  of  the  Philomatheans  of  former  days — fair 
examples  to  those  who  shall  come  after  them. 

The  following  Poem  from  Mrs.  Sigourney,  written  for 
the  occasion,  with  the  accompanying  note  were  then  read : 

"Mrs.  Sigourney  sends,  by  request,  a  Poem  for  the 
approaching  Jubilee  of  the  Philomathean  Society  of  Union 
College,  with  the  hope  that  this  gathering  of  choice  and 
classic  spirits,  throughout  our  wide-spread  lahd,  to  a  spot 
hallowed  by  high  associations,  may  be  productive  of  all 
they  anticipate." 

Hartford^  June  16,  1848. 

THE  COLLEGE  SPIRIT. 

What  Spirit  from  the  sacred  realms 

Of  Learning's  sceptred  sway, 
Comes  forth  in  vigor  unimpaired, 

While  ancient  thrones  decay  ? 

What  whispereth  to  the  man  of  God, 

Who  wars  with  sin  and  pride, 
And  brings  a  sunbeam  o'er  his  thought. 

When  all  is  dark  deside  ? 

What,  like  a  dovelet's  dewy  wing, 

Doth  fan  the  statesman's  brain. 
And  from  the  brow  of  toil  and  care 

Unbind  the  coiling  chain  *? 

What  moves  the  sage  of  hoary  hairs  ? 
The  lover  in  his  bowers  1 


DINNER.  137 

And  o'er  the  prairie's  boundless  breast, 
Sweeps  like  the  breath  of  flowers  1 

What  beckoneth  with  a  viewless  hand, 

From  homes  that  seas  divide, 
Back  to  the  cloister'd  halls  of  yore, 

The  Alma  Mater's  side  1 

Back  to  the  earliest  student-cell, 

The  tomes  of  lore  refined, 
Back  to  the  quiet  twilight  walk. 

Where  heart  with  heart  was  twined  ? 

Back  to  the  fine,  old  classic  groves, 

The  haunts  that  flowers  adorn, 
Where  'neath  the  sunset's  crimson  cloud, 

At  flush  of  eve — 'twas  born. 

Oh  soul  of  friendship  !  knit  to  strength, 

'Mid  youth  and  learning's  might, 
Still  strike  thy  rooted  memories  deep, 

Till  time's  receding  light. 

And  link  thyself  with  love  divine. 

That  when  life's  dream  is  o'er. 
Thou,  with  a  seraph's  lyre,  mayst  stand 

Upon  the  eternal  shore. 

L.    H.   SiGOURNEY. 

On  motion  of  Joel  B.  Nott,  Esq.,  it  was  unanimously 
resolved  that  Hon.  John  C.  Wright,  Hon.  Archibald 
L.  Linn,  and  Thomas  Palmer,  Esq.,  in  connection  with 
a  committee  from  the  acting  members,  address  the  Alumni, 
soliciting  them  to  unite  in  raising  a  semi-centennial  contri- 
butioHj  to  be  applied  to  the  enlargement  of  the  Society 
Library. 


LETTERS. 


The  following  letters  were  received  from  different  Alum- 
ni and  invited  guests. 

FROM  KEY.  ADAM  EMPIE,  D.  D.    . 

Richmond,  (Va.,)  June  8,  1848. 
Mr.  Am  AS  A  McCoy  : 

Dear  Sir  : — I  have  just  received  from  your  hands,  an 
invitation  to  attend  the  Semi-Centennial  Celebration  of  the 
Philomathean  Society  of  Union  College.  Give  me  leave  to 
assure  you,  sir,  and  through  you  the  Committee  of  Invita- 
tion, (three  of  whose  members,  once  my  own  fellow-stu- 
dents, I  always  remember  with  distinguished  respect,)  that 
I  highly  appreciate,  and  feel  much  flattered  by  the  particu- 
lar and  pressing  invitation  with  which  they  have  honored 
me ;  and  that  it  would  aflbrd  me  great  pleasure,  did  my 
health  and  duties  permit,  to  unite  with  them  in  the  literary, 
social,  and  festive  exercises  and  gratifications,  to  which 
they  are  looking  forward.  Union  College,  its  President, 
and  the  Philomathean  Society,  to  which  it  ever  was  my 
pride  to  have  belonged,  have  always  been  cherished  by 
me,  in  a  kind  and  grateful  remembrance.  They  have  al- 
ways been  associated  in  my  own  heart,  with  feelings  of 
gratitude  to  Heaven,  and  with  the  memory  of  (a  thousand 
collegiate)  joys  that  are  past ;  and  I  am  never  more  inte- 


140  PHILOMATHEAN   CELEBRATION. 

rested,  gratified,  or  disposed  to  be  loquacious,  than  when  I 
meet  with  a  friend  who  has  much  to  say  about  my  che- 
rished Alma  Mater. 

Although,  therefore,  I  cannot  enjoy  the  high  gratification 
of  personally  greeting  you,  and  of  sharing  in  the  delightful 
associations  and  reminiscences  that  will  cluster  around  the 
coming  anniversary,  (my  infirmities  and  duties  preventing,) 
yet  I  beg  the  Philomatheans  to  be  assured  that  I  cherish 
the  memory  of  them  all  as  literary  brothers,  and  that  I  hope 
they  may  realize,  at  the  coming  festival,  all  the  benefit  and 
all  the  pleasure  which  their  most  sanguine  anticipations 
can  lead  them  to  expect — Increasing  prosperity,  usefulness, 
and  honor,  to  our  distinguished  Alma  Mater,  and  to  her 
noble  auxiliary,  the  Brotherhood  of  Philomatheans. 
I  have  the  honor  to  be,  Sir, 
With  great  respect, 

Your  friend  and  servant, 

A.  EMPIE. 


FROM  REV.  SAMUEL  NOTT,  JR. 

Wareham,  (Mass.,)  June  21,  1848. 

Dear  Sir  : — It  is  with  great  reluctance  that  I  decline 
the  invitation  to  join  in  your  approaching  celebration.  An 
infirm  state  of  health  compels  me  to  confine  myself  to  my 
necessary  duties,  especially  at  this  season  of  the  year. 

I  must  not,  however,  let  the  opportunity  pass,  without 
expressing  my  deep  sense  of  obligation  to  the  Philomathean 
Society.  I  have  every  reason  to  be  thankful  to  Union  Col- 
lege for  its  faithful  and  skillful  care,  but  its  service  is  al- 
ways remembered  in  connection  with  our  Association.  The 
voluntary  diligence  of  a  Collegiate  Society  supplies  a  most 


LETTERS.  141 

important  place  in  the  formation  of  a  young  man's  charac- 
ter— in  fitting  him  to  make  the  most  of  Ufe.  Especially, 
extemporaneous  debate,  connected  with  thorough  studies 
and  careful  writing,  begins  the  true  economy  of  public  life. 
The  rapid  and  various  research  beforehand,  and  the 
prompt  recollection,  arrangement,  and  application  of  one's 
knowledge,  employ  and  strengthen  the  whole  man  without 
sacrificing  the  opportunity  which  the  College  affords.     I 

may,  in  accordance  with  these  views,  offer  to  the  assem- 

« 

bled  brotherhood  the  following  sentiment: 

The  Philomathean  Society — An  indispensable  aid  of 
Union  College  in  the  training  of  her  sons.  In  high  or  low 
estate,  they  shall  do  good  service  whose  self-directed  man- 
hood is  faithful  in  continuing  the  work  which  both  began. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  young  men  who  gave 
us  our  name  were  unmindful  of  the  highest  mathema.  At 
least,  those  who  remain  to  old  age,  and  my  own  cotempo- 
raries  of  forty  years  ago,  will  join  me  in  the  assurance 
which  long  experience  has  given,  that  were  it  for  this  life 
only,  for  its  necessities  and  occasions,  they  only  are  pre- 
pared who  learn  of  the  Brother  and  the  Lord  of  human 
kind.  Too  deeply  have  I  felt  this,  to  think  that  the  young 
men  will  not  approve  the  letter  to  Philomatheans,  which, 
after  all,  "  turns  out  a  sermon." 

With  great  interest  in  the  whole  Brotherhood, 

SAMUEL  NOTT,  Jr. 


FROM  REV.  GEORGE  UPFOLD,  D.  D. 

Pittsburg,  July  3,  1848. 

Dear  Sir  : — I  have  delayed  acknowledging  the  receipt 

of  your  letter  of  the  26th  of  May,  inviting  me  to  the  pro- 

19 


142  PHILOMATHEAN   CELEBRATION. 

posed  Semi-Centennial  Anniversary  of  the  Philomathean 
Society,  on  the  25th  instant,  from  the  uncertainty  of  being 
enabled  to  absent  myself  from  my  parish  at  that  time. 
Having  been  so  fortunate  as  to  obtain  the  assistance  of  a 
clerical  friend  during  my  absence,  I  lose  no  time  in  signi- 
fying to  you  my  acceptance  of  the  very  gratifying  invita- 
tion of  the  Committee.  It  is  now  thirty-four  years  since  I 
had  the  pleasure  of  meeting,  as  "  an  attending  member," 
with  a^  Society  in  which,  during  my  collegiate  course,  I 
took  a  deep  interest,  and  which  is  associated  with  some  of 
my  most  delightful  recollections  of  the  past.  I  have  never 
had  an  opportunity  of  participating  in  its  exercises  as  a 
"non-attending  member."  But  I  have  heard,  with  sincere 
gratification,  of  its  great  increase  in  numbers,  and  of  its 
continued  prosperity  ;  and  I  anticipate  no  little  pleasure  in 
personally  beholding  its  present  flourishing  condition,  and 
in  meeting,  among  the  many  who  are  necessarily  strang- 
ers, some,  I  trust,  with  whom,  in  by-gone  days,  I  was  wont 
to  associate  in  friendly  intercourse  and  in  literary  pursuits, 
in  its  well  remembered  hall. 

Very  truly  and  respectfully, 

Your  fellow  Philomathean, 

GEORGE  UPFOLD. 
Mr.  Amasa  McCoy. 


FROM  HON.  HIRAM  P.  HUNT. 

Troy,  May  31,  1848. 
Mr.  Amasa  McCoy  : 

Sir  : — I  have  to  acknowledge  the  receipt  of  an  invitation 
to  the  Anniversary  Celebration  of  the  Philomathean  Socie^ 
ty,  on  the  25th  of  July  next,  together  with  your  kind  note 


LETTERS.  143 

attached  to  the  same,  and  urging  my  attendance.  In  re- 
ply, be  pleased  to  accept  my  thanks,  both  for  the  mvitation 
and  the  manner  in  which  the  same  was  communicated. 
Amidst  the  labors  of  an  arduous  profession,  in  which  I  have 
been  engaged  for  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century,  it  is  a 
relief  to  look  back  to  the  years  of  my  academic  life,  and  to 
be  assured,  that  after  a  lapse  of  thirty- two  years,  my  name 
has  not  wholly  disappeared  from  the  Society  to  which  I 
was  ardently  attached,  is  grateful  to  my  feelings. 

And  allow  me,  through  you,  to  say  to  the  Society,  that 
experience  has  confirmed  my  early  convictions  of  the  util- 
ity of  the  association  in  training  and  fitting  its  niembers 
for  the  duties  of  active  life.  I  cannot,  therefore,  but  look 
with  deep  interest,  to  the  success  of  the  Society,  and  of  the 
literary  institution  to  which  it  belongs. 

Should  my  professional  engagements  be  such  as,  (by 
possibility,)  to  allow  me  to  attend  your  celebration,  I  shall 
most  cheerfully  comply  with  your  Invitation. 
Respectfully  yours,  &c.j 

H.  P.  HUNT. 


FROM  REV.  STEPHEN  SCHUYLER. 

Rhtnebeck,  July  22,  1848. 
My  Dear  Sir  : — In  the  month  of  May  last  I  received  a 
Circular  to  the  Alumni  of  the  Philomathean  Society, 
Union  College,  inviting  me  to  participate  in  the  comme- 
moration of  a  Semi-centennial  Anniversary  of  our  Society, 
on  the  25th  of  the  present  month.  As  you  are  chairman 
of  the  Committee  of  Invitation  signing  said  Circular,  permit 
me  to  address  to  you  my  reply  to  the  same.  Were  it  not 
for  the  reason  which  I  shall  presently  assign,  it  would  af- 


144  PHILOMATHEAN   CELEBRATION. 

ford  me  much  pleasm-e  to  join  on  that  day  in  the  celebra- 
tion of  an  event  so  interesting  as  the  foundation  of  a  Lite- 
rary Society  of  which  I  had  the  honor  of  being  a  member 
while  I  was  at  Union  College — to  meet  in  social,  yet 
chastened,  festivity  the  Alumni  of  that  Society,  many  of 
whom  I  still  hold  in  friendship's  remembrance,  and  some 
of  whom  among  the  members  of  your  committee  I  recog- 
nize as  personal  acquaintances — to  lend  a  listening  ear  to 
the  Oration  and  Poem  which  shall  on  that  occasion  be 
pronounced,  and  to  share  in  the  friendly  salutations  which 
shall  then  be  exchanged  Avith  each  other — to  brighten  my 
recollections  of  past  scenes  and  hours  of  youthful  enjoyment 
— to  revive  my  sentiments  of  affection  for  those  from  whom 
I  have  been  so  long  separated,  and  to  renew  my  acquaint- 
ance with  those  with  whom  my  intercourse  has  been  so 
long  suspended. 

But  an  afflictive  event,  a  painful  dispensation  of  an  all- 
wise  and  all-good  Being,  prevents  me  from  seeking  to  en- 
joy that  pleasure  ;  from  being  one  to  mingle  with  you  in 
that  hour  of  rational  and  social  gratification.  The  recent 
death  of  an  only  and  beloved  daughter,  unfits  me  for  any 
other  scene  and  place  at  present  than  the  retirement  of 
home,  disqualifies  me  for  adding  any  thing  to  the  sum  of 
hilarity  and  cheerfulness  looked  for  at  such  a  time,  and 
incapacitates  me  to  relish  the  excitement  connected  with 
such  an  occasion.  Allow  me,  therefore,  under  these  cir- 
cumstances, to  make  this  letter  my  representative  on  the 
anticipated  occasion,  and  to  request  you,  dear  sir,  to  com- 
municate its  import,  at  least,  to  my  friends  assembled  on 
that  day,  in  that  hall  where  we  were  wont  to  convene. 
Please  assure  my  associate  Alumni  of  the  Philomathean 
Society  of  my  regard  and  friendship  for  them;  of  the  de- 
light with  which  I  should  meet  them,  if  certain  emotions 


LETTERS.  145 

were  not  so  prominent  in  my  bosom ;  of  my  continued  inte- 
rest in  all  true  science  and  learning,  especially  in  the 
knowledge,  combined  with  the  practice,  of  the  will  of  the 
Almighty  Father  of  us  all,  who  would  make  of  one  ever- 
enduring  Society,  in  perfect  love  and  harmony,  all  the 
nations  of  the  world.  If  sentiments  are  offered  at  your 
festive  board,  and  if  there  be  a  language  in  flowers,  I  would 
cull  this  one  of  sweet  promise  from  the  Paradise  of  God, 
and,  while  all  people  except  our  own  are  in  commotion, 
and  the  kingdoms  of  this  world  are  bemg  shaken,  would 
present  it,  saying,  "  Knowledge  and  wisdom  shall  be  the 
stability  of  thy  times  and  strength  of  salvation." 
With  sincere  regard  I  am,  Sir, 
Your  Friend, 

STEPHEN  SCHUYLER. 

Prof.  Isaac  W.  Jackson, 

Chairman  of  Committee  of  Invitation. 


FROM  RT.  REV.  BISHOP  DOANE,  D.  D.,  LL.  D. 

Burlington,  July  8,  1848. 
Dear  Sir  : — From  the  telegraphic  despatch  just  receiv- 
ed, I  gather  that  my  answers  to  former  letters  have  not 
been  received.  I  deeply  regret  my  inability  to  comply 
with  the  request  of  my  young  friends,  and  deeply  feel  the 
kindness  which  has  prompted  it.  I  hold  the  Philomathean 
Society  in  most  honorable  remembrance,  and  heartily  de- 
sire for  it  length  of  days,  and  for  all  its  members  honor  and 
happiness. 

Ever  your  faithful  friend, 

G.  W.  DOANE. 


146  PHILOMATHEAN   CELEBRATION. 


FROM  REV.  GEORGE  W.  BETHUNE,  D.  D. 

Philadelphia,  June  8,  1848. 
Gentlemen  : — Having  promised  to  deliver  the  oration 
before  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society  of  Dartmouth  College, 
this  year,  I  find  that  it  will  prevent  my  being  present  at 
the  Semi-Centennary  of  the  Philomathean  Society.  I  can, 
therefore,  only  express  my  deep  regret,  thank  you  for  the 
honor  of  your  invitation,  and  wish  the  brethren,  more  for- 
tunate than  myself,  the  highest  enjoyment  of  their  refined 
festivities. 

With  great  respect,  yours, 

GEO.  W.  BETHUNE. 
Prof.  Isaac  W.  Jackson, 

Chairman  of  Committee  of  Invitation. 


FROM  HON.  WILLIAM  H.  SEWARD. 

Auburn,  July  19,  1848. 
Dear  Sir: — I  have  refrained,  thus  long,  from  reply- 
ing to  your  letter  of  the  12th  of  this  month,  inviting  me  to 
attend  the  Semi-Centennial  Anniversary  Celebration  of  the 
Philomathean  Society,  under  a  hope  that  I  might  control 
my  engagements,  so  as  to  allow  myself  so  great  an  indul- 
gence as  an  acceptance  of  the  invitation  would  afford. 
But  an  unexpected  summons  to  Baltimore  places  that  pleas- 
ure entirely  beyond  my  reach.  I  beg  you  to  present  to  the 
Committee  my  grateful  acknowledgments  for  the  honor 
they  have  shown  me,  and  express  to  them  my  great  satis- 
faction in  learning  that  the  Philomathean  Society  main- 


LETTERS.  147 

tains  all  its  ancient  reputation,  and  continues  to  enlarge  its 
sphere  of  usefulness. 

I  am,  Dear  Sir, 

Very  respectfully. 

Your  obedient  servant, 

WILLIAM  H.  SEWARD. 
Mr.  Amasa  McCoy. 


FROM  HON.  ALFRED  CONKLING. 

Melrose,  near  Auburn,  July  22,  1848. 

Dear  Sir  : — It  was  not  until  to-day  that  I  reluctantly 
gave  up  the  hope  of  being  able  to  attend  the  approaching 
celebration  of  the  Semi-Centennial  Anniversary  of  the 
Philomathean  Society  of  Union  College,  announced  in  the 
circular  of  the  committee  of  which  you  are  chairman. 

Anticipating  the  pleasure,  as  1  have  all  along  indulged 
myself  in  doing,  of  being  present  on  this  highly  interesting 
occasion,  I  have  naturally  been  led  to  revert  to  the  long- 
past  years  of  my  own  collegiate  pupilage,  and  to  dwell 
upon  the  cherished  and  yet  vivid  remembrance  of  those 
with  whom,  as  instructors  and  fellow-students,  it  was  my 
good  fortune  to  be  then  associated. 

It  is  now  just  forty  years  since  I  entered  the  college. 
At  that  time  Dr.  Nott — clarum  et  venerabile  nomen — was, 
as,  most  happily,  he  has  ever  since  been.  President.  Dr. 
Allen,  erudite,  serene  and  majestic,  who  had  the  diagram 
of  the  forty-seventh  proposition  engraven  on  his  seal,  and 
was  himself  the  very  personification  of  the  noble  sciences 
he  taught,  was  Professor  of  Mathematics  and  Natural 
Philosophy.  Dr.  Davis — learned,  conscientious  and  inde- 
fatigable in  the  performance  of  his  duties ;  a  rigid  discipli- 


148  PHILOMATHEAN   CELEBRATION. 

narian  in  theory,  but  too  benevolent  to  be  severe ;  for,  in 
taking  his  nightly  rounds,  he  usually  gave  timely  notice  of 
his  approach,  especially  to  the  domicils  of  the  more  mercu- 
rial students,  by  striking  his  cane  heavily  on  the  floor — 
was  Professor  of  Greek.     Mr.  (afterwards  the   Rev.  Dr.) 
McCauley — a  faithful  instructor  and  kind-hearted  gentle- 
man, who,  as  I  know  by  experience,  if  a  student  could  not 
find  a  satisfactory  definition  of  a  Latin  word  in  his  duode- 
cimo dictionary,  would  in  the  most  obliging  manner  throw 
open  his  ponderous  quarto — was  Professor  of  Latin.     I 
bear  testimony  with  the  greater  alacrity  to  my  recollection 
of  the  excellent  qualities  of  this  gentleman,  because  he 
became,  during  my  time,  the  object  of  a  wanton  and  cruel 
persecution,  in  which,  I  am  pained  to  say,  I  had  some 
share,  though  not  by  any  means  so  great  a  share  as  one  of 
the   circumstances  connected  with   the   unhappy  affair, 
seemed  to  indicate.     It  was  an  unmerited,  and,  in  truth, 
groundless  aggression,  undertaken  without  much  reflection, 
quite  as  much  in  sport  as  in  earnest,  and  prosecuted  with- 
out any  just  appreciation  of  the  pain  it  could  not  but  have 
occasioned.    It  has  ever  since  been  fresh  in  my  recollection, 
and  I  have  never  thought  of  it  but  with  remorse.     The 
youngest,  and  only  remaining  professor  of  that  time,  was  Mr., 
(afterwards  the  Rev.  Dr.,  and  for  many  years  past.  Bishop,) 
Brownell,  Professor  of  Rhetoric,  Belles  Lettres  and  Chem- 
istry ;  a  fine  scholar,  and  a  modest  and  courtly  gentleman. 
He  went  to  England  shortly  before  our  class  was  gradua- 
ted, to  purchase  chemical  apparatus,  and  performed  a  tour, 
chiefly  pedestrian,  through,  as  1  understood,  a  great  part 
of  England,  if  not  of  Scotland  also. 

It  strikes  me  as  somewhat  remarkable  that  of  all  these 
eminent  and  excellent  men,  old  enough,  forty  years  ago,  to 
fill  the  high  and  responsible  posts  they  occupied,  one  only 


LETTERS.  149 

has  died.  Dr.  Allen,  alone,  has  "shuffled  off  this  mortal 
(foil,"  and  passed  into  a  new  state  of  being ;  and  if  it  be 
true  that  the  complexion  of  our  future  existence  takes  its 
hue  from  our  character  here,  I  cannot  but  believe  that  he 
has  been  a  gainer  by  the  transition.  He  left  the  college 
while  I  was  there  ;  why,  the  students  were  not  permitted 
to  know.  His  sudden  departure  was,  to  us,  a  profound 
and  painful  mystery.  We  called  a  class  meeting,  and 
sent  after  him  a  letter  expressive  of  om'  love  and  respect 
for  his  character,  and  our  sorrow  at  the  separation.  We 
never  received  any  answer  to  our  communication.  If  he 
ever  got  it,  he  probably  deemed  it  indiscreet  to  acknow- 
ledge its  receipt. 

Dr.  Allen  was  succeeded  by  Professor  Hassler,  since 
widely  known  as  a  profound  mathematician.  He  was  an 
eccentric  and  highly  sensitive  man.  He  had  a  work-shop 
in  the  upper  part  of  his  house,  where,  with  his  own  hands, 
he  fabricated  many  things  pertaining  to  his  scientific  pur- 
suits. Owing  partly  to  his  want  of  familiarity  with  om* 
language,  and,  paradoxical  though  it  may  seem,  to  his  vast 
learning,  he  was  not  a  successful  instructor.  While  await- 
ing the  tardy  decision  of  the  Government  upon  his  appli- 
cation for  employment  in  its  service,  he  fell  sick  of  "  hope 
deferred ;"  took  to  his  bed,  from  which  there  seemed  to  be 
little  probability  of  his  ever  rising  ;  but  when,  at  length,  the 
wished-for  answer  came,  he  at  once  arose,  dressed  himself, 
and  set  about  the  necessary  preparations  for  his  departure. 

But  I  am  growing  prosy ^  and  I  fear  you  will  find  my 
remeniscences  more  tiresome  than  interesting. 

Believe  me,  Dear  Sir,  with  great  respect  and  regard, 

Very  truly  yours, 

A.  CONKLING. 

Prof.  Isaac  W.  Jackson. 

20 


150  PHILOMATHEAN   CELEBRATION. 

FROM  HON.  WILLIAM  KENT. 

New-York,  June  5,  1848. 

Dear  Sir  : — ^I  deeply  regret  that  inextricable  engage- 
naentSj  long  since  formed,  will  detain  me  far  from  Schenec- 
tady on  the  25th  of  July  next,  and  prevent  my  joining  in 
the  celebration  of  the  Semi-Centennial  Anniversary  of  the 
Philomathean  Society. 

No  invitation  could  have  addressed  itself  more  forcibly 
to  my  feelings,  nor  summoned  up  more  visibly  before  me 
the  events,  studies,  joys,  and  friendships  of  early  youth,  so 
many  of  which  are  connected  with  that  Society,  the  anni- 
versary of  which  you  kindly  invite  me  to  celebrate. 

Though'  absent  from  your  meeting  in  July,  I  shall  be 
with  you  in  sympathetic  feeling ;  and,  while  recollection  of 
the  past  remains,  I  shall  be  proud  to  feel  and  declare  my- 
self a  loyal  and  attached  member  of  your  distinguished 
Society. 

I  have  the  honor  to  be.  Dear  Sir, 

Your  most  obedient  and  humble  servant, 

WILLIAM  KENT. 
Mr.  Amasa  McCoy. 


FROM.  REV.  HENRY  MANDEVILLE,  D.  D. 

Hamilton  College,  June  13,  1848. 
Mr.  Amasa  McCoy  : 

Dear  Sir: — I  have  the  honor  to  acknowledge  your 
friendly  invitation  to  attend  a  reunion  and  festival  of  the 
Philomathean  Society,  on  the  25th  of  July ;  and  I  thank 
you  for  the  very  complimentary  terms  in  which  the  invita- 
tion was  conveyed.  That  my  humble  name  should  "  not 
be  forgotten,"  among  so  many  of  greater  worth  and  wider 


LETTERS.  151 

celebrity,  which  adorn  the  Catalogue  of  the  Philomathean 
Society,  and  shed  lustre  on  our  venerable  Alma  Mater,  I 
deem  no  ordinary  distinction. 

Your  invitation,  (I  say  it  sorroAvfully,)  I  am  obliged  to 
decline.  I  have  been  promising  myself  the  pleasure  of 
attending  commencement  at  Union  for  several  years  ;  and 
with  more  emphasis  the  present  than  any  preceding  year  ; 
and  now,  when  I  vividly  perceive  how  much  that  pleasure 
would  be  enhanced  by  your  contemplated  meeting  and  its 
incidents — outstretched  palms  of  old  comrades,  and  remi- 
niscences of  old  campaigns,  to  say  nothing,  but  think  much, 
of  the  oration,  poem,  dinner,  speeches,  et  caetera,  (a  combi- 
nation to  make  a  Professor  of  Rhetoric  run  mad,)  the  inte- 
resting event  must  still  be  deferred  to  a  more  auspicious 
future.  An  engagement  in  the  cause  of  education  in  Ohio 
will  call  me  to  that  State  a  fortnight  previous  to  the  meet- 
ing, and  probably  detain  me  there  until  the  middle  of  Sep- 
tember. Please  express  my  regrets  to  your  committee,  and 
believe  me, 

Very  truly  a  Philomathean,  and 
Your  obedient  servant, 

H.  MANDEVILLE. 


FROM  HON.  JOHN  K.  PORTER 


Albany,  June  5,  1848, 
My  Dear  Sir  : — I  found,  on  my  return  from  court,  a 

very  gratifying  evidence  of  remembrance  on  the  part  of  my 

collegiate  friends,  in  your  letter  and  the  accompanying 

communications. 
Such  a  compliment  was  peculiarly  acceptable  from  the 

Philomathean  Society ;  for  there  are  few  of  the  brother- 


152  PHILOMATHEAN   CELEBRATION. 

hood  to  whoiii  the  Old  Hall  is  not  endeared  by  many  pleas^ 

ing  and  grateful  associations. 

I  shall  certainly  endeavor  to  attend  the  Semi-Centennial 

Jubilee,*  and  the  occasion  will  doubtless  suggest  some  few 

words  to  say  in  an  after  dinner  talk,  if  there  should  be  a 

dearth  of  speakers-^a  thing,  by  the  way,  which  we  can 

all  say  with  honest  pride,  is  not  likely  to  occur  at  a  Philo* 

mathean  Jubilee. 

•  »  »  *  *  •  « 

Yours,  very  truly, 

JOHN  K.  PORTER. 

Mr.  Amasa  McCoy. 


*  Judge  Porter,  and  also  Dr.  Upfold,  were  prevented  from  attending 
by  circumstances  which  occurred  after  their  letters  were  transmitted. 


SOIREE. 


The  memorable  enjoyments  of  the  day  were  succeeded 
in  the  evening,  by  the  no  less  acceptable  pleasures  of  a 
Soiree.     At  nine  o'clock,  the  members  and  invited  guests  as- 
sembled in  the  spacious  Hall  occupied  during  the  afternooUj 
and  now  elegantly  furnished  for  the  social  pleasures  of  the 
evening.     The  vases   of  flowers,   wreathed   mottos,    and 
other  decorations  for  the  day  still  adorned  the  walls,  har- 
monizing Avell  with  the  beauty  of  the  scene.     Excellent 
music  lent  its  enlivening  strains  to  the  enthusiasm  that 
pervaded  the  assembly.     The  pleasures  of  the   occasion 
were  not  now  confined  to  the  members  alone,  but  were 
shared  and  heightened  by  a  large  number  of  their  fair 
friends,  invited  from  the  city  and  abroad,  and  the  Philo- 
mathean   never  received  a  more  acceptable  compliment, 
than  when  Beauty  displayed  on  her  snowy  robes  the  pink 
insignia  of  membership.     The  refined  enjoyments  of  the 
Soiree  were  peculiarly  grateful  to  the  cloistered  student 
who  had  just  closed  the  labors  of  another  collegiate  year, 
as  well  as  to  the  returned  members,  in  whom  was  revived 
the  enthusiasm  of  earlier  years. 

"  Agnosco  veteris  vestigia  flammae." 


Thus  closed  the  Semi-Centennial  Anniversary  of  the 
Philomathean  Society — an  occasion  highly  interesting  and 


^^-4 


154  PHILOMATHEAN    CELEBRATION. 

gratifying  to  those  present — ^honorable  to  the  enterprise  of 
its  members — a  testimonial  of  its  past  usefulness,  and  the 
interest  still  taken  in  its  welfare — and,  we  may  be  permit- 
ted to  hope,  an  auspicious  indication  of  its  future  pros- 
perity. 


[Note. — It  was  the  design  of  the  Society  to  append  to  the  work  a  list 
of  the  donors  to  the  "  Semi-Centennial  Contribution  for  the  improvement 
of  the  Society  Library,"  but  owing  to  unforseen  circumstances  this  in- 
tention could  not  be  carried  into  eflfect.] 


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